


Brokeback

by WandererRiha



Series: Brokeback [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Blind Ignis, Everyone Gets A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, cyborg prom, disabled noct, disabled ravus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: Young Noctis doesn't fare so well after the Daemon attack that brought him to Tenebrae. Although the healers there do their best, they cannot reverse all the damage. Cue one Ardyn Izunia and a terrible ultimatum: the prince's welfare in exchange for ceding to Niflheim.





	1. One

Noctis is only eight, still a young child when he’s nearly killed by a Daemon. The wound is deep, the damage severe. The Lucian physicians manage to stabilize him, but that is all. The queen of Tenebrae offers the services of her people. The healers of Tenebrae are without parallel, but even they cannot undo what has been done. Noctis improves, he wakes and smiles, and it is all Regis can do to hold back his tears as he smiles back. His son, his only son, who must also somehow redeem the world from darkness, will never walk again.

Then the drop ship comes. Tenebrae braces for battle, even as its queen goes to see what the intruders want- besides the obvious. Niflheim has long desired all of Eos, gobbling up smaller countries and principalities like sweets left unattended. The chancellor is flamboyantly dressed, but his face grave. He makes a sweeping bow to both monarchs and offers an impossible ultimatum: Regis’ country for his son’s health.

Six, how does one answer that? He cannot. Not at once. Shock and hope and outrage wage a battle in this throat, rending him mute. Queen Sylva steps forward and replies for him: what are their terms? What guarantees will they offer? If the boy does not recover, what then? Sylva does most of the talking with Regis making a comment here or there. At length, it is decided. Lucis will submit to Niflheim control if- and only if- Noctis’ health is fully restored.

Months later, when Noctis stumbles smiling and laughing into his father’s arms, Regis knows that the hard choice might have been the selfish one, but it was the right one for his son. Noctis can walk- not well, not far- but enough to get around. He cannot run, cannot hop or skip, but he can move under his own power. It’s something. He will never be physically strong, never be able to defend himself, always be fragile, but at least he’s alive and mobile. It’s more than Regis had hoped for, really. They return to Lucis under Imperial guard to give their subjects the good news, and the bad news: Noctis is well again, but they must all bow to a greater rule. To say that Regis’ popularity drops is something of an understatement.

Fenestala remains untouched. Only the one drop ship had ever arrived. Although this strikes Queen Sylva as both strange and suspicious, she is not the one who brokered a deal with the devil in exchange for a child’s life. She holds her own children close, and weeps for dear friends and a country now captive. Perhaps with the Crystal and True King in their grasp, a small pocket of religious fanatics is of little consequence. She is Oracle, but she cannot heal this self-inflicted wound. She can only pray the Empire yet respects her status as Oracle enough not to raise a hand against her family and what little remains of her country. Ravus and Luna are not yet old enough, not yet learned in all they need to know. It is her dearest wish that they remain children just a little while longer. Niflheim withdraws for the moment, but she knows with dreadful certainty that they will return all too soon.

Niflheim provides a companion for the young prince to aid in his recovery. The boy is roughly Noctis’ age, and somehow manages to be both shy and exuberant. Like Noct, he bears magitek enhancements himself, but to a much greater degree. They call him a cyborg. He’s a plant, a spy, eyes and ears for the Empire, but Regis finds it hard to resent a child. Prompto may be half robot, but he’s still a human, and seems utterly devoted to his arranged playmate. Noctis has so few friends outside of his caretakers and the palace staff, Regis cannot begrudge him this. Prompto might be a spy, but it is supremely unlikely that an eight-year-old is also an assassin.

Noctis tries. He does. His friends might chide him for being lazy, but they all know the real reason he sleeps so long and so often. Magic is draining, and Noctis’ already compromised body requires more time to recover than average. Too delicate to take the stress of the recoil of a gun, far too weak to lift a sword or spear, Noctis’ only offensive option is magic. So he trains, trains to the point of exhaustion and past it. He knows what he must do, and Regis wishes every second of every day that the burden might be his own and not his son’s. Noctis has enough to deal with as it is. But he is so proud of his son; of his strong will, his determination. By the time he’s eighteen, Noctis has three times the magic reserves of most adults.

Despite it all, it could be worse. Niflheim allows them some autonomy- not as much as Regis would like- and a crippled boy is no good to them as a soldier. By and large, they let Noctis and his friends be, and Regis is glad he can put himself between his son and the Empire for a little while. Still, as Noctis matures, Regis doubts his own ability to keep him safe. Perhaps reading between the lines of his intentionally dull letters, Queen Sylva proposes a match between her daughter and the crown prince of Lucis. Noctis and Lunafreya were- and are- friends. They are fond of one another, if only as friends at present. But it would provide a means of escape for Noctis, and some much-needed leverage against Niflheim- not that Tenebrae would leave them to founder on their own, but a single city against the entire Empire would not stand good odds.

Noctis blinks at the second-hand proposal, thinks about it, and nods. Yes. Yes, he’ll marry Luna. Regis breathes his first sigh of relief in many years. They make plans to smuggle him out of the city. It won’t be easy. Noctis isn’t fast on his feet, and there are literally guards everywhere. Regis at first tries to exclude Prompto, but the boy shakes his head.

“My priority is the prince,” he says in his slightly mechanical tone. “All else is secondary.”

They make him swear an oath of loyalty to Noctis, exploiting a loophole in his programming, allowing him to bend his allegiance to Niflheim. Prompto does so willingly, and makes several suggestions regarding secreting Noctis to safety. They include Noctis beginning his pilgrimage to collect the weapons of his ancestors as a method of getting him out of the city. It’s something the Empire has been actively putting off, disliking the idea of even a crippled prince amassing an armory. Yet it makes sense. This must be done sooner rather than later. Chancellor Izunia very graciously offers to accompany them, but Noctis assures him they do not need a chaperone for a simple road trip. Gladio mumbles something about tying Izunia up and stuffing him in the trunk and Noctis doesn’t quite manage to suppress his smile.

They cannot escape an Imperial entourage, not at first anyway. It means Gladio bodily carrying a longsuffering Noct in a few instances, but they make it to the car Regis has put in position for them. They drive and leave it, obtain another, and keep driving. Noct wonders dimly if the Empire can track the magitek in Prompto and himself? It’s a risk they’ll have to take.

Regis does not regret the decision; the match, the escape, his role in all of it. The empire accuses him of going back on his word, and Regis does not deny it. He only remarks offhandedly that Niflheim has not exactly lived up to their side. They are both guilty. It does not come as a surprise when they try to kill him. The first few attempts are insultingly amateurish; poison, assassins seemingly hired from the want ads, staged ‘accidents’. Regis calls them on it and is at least granted a warrior’s death in return. They send one of their robots to kill him. Regis has the satisfaction of knowing that he went down fighting, and that his son his safe. He would have liked to see his son married, to hold his grandchildren. One, he muses, cannot have everything.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Luna and Ravus have their own (mis)adventures.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is not the type to await in a tower for her true love. She will be Queen after her mother, and has been chosen just as Noctis has been. She will be Oracle in her own right one day, and she has spent her entire life thus far preparing for when that day comes. She will not wait for Noctis to come to her. No indeed. She has her own pilgrimage to make; clearing the way for her intended and his friends. Her brother Ravus accompanies her as body guard and companion. He is four years older, yet he feels more like her twin. The two of them work together as a unit; two halves of a whole. There is no such thing as a king of Tenebrae, as a male Oracle, yet Lunafreya wonders. Surely Ravus has some share in their inheritance, even if such a thing has yet to be documented.

Their mother sends them out, knowing they are safer together moving among the faithful. Lunafreya has already been anointed; she will succeed her mother as Queen, as Oracle, yet she may not receive her crown for some time. For many years Sylva Nox Fleuret has heard the drone of war ships, and she can no longer ignore their approach. Niflheim knows of her suggestion of the match. They have voiced no disagreement, but that does not mean they will stand back and watch. Indeed, no sooner have her son and daughter kissed her goodbye, then the MTs descend. The Queen of Tenebrae is not one to bow meekly before anyone or anything. Half the courtyard is reduced to rubble before she is brought low. Her last thought is of her children.

No one tells them of her death, they simply know. They feel it in their hearts, their bones, their souls. Queen Sylva’s demise is blamed on Lucian insurgents, but they both know better. Ravus wants to return to avenge his mother, but lets his sister persuade him to continue. There is nothing else they can do in Fenestella. Their best chance is to awaken the Astrals and meet up with Noctis and his friends. Together, they can conquer the Darkness and perhaps Niflheim as well. After all, who will stand against the Oracle and the True King? It is flimsy logic, but it is all they have. Together, they press on. There is little else they can do.

Shiva has joined them long ago, though the aid she provides is less than Lunafreya would like. Ravus grumbles for his sister when she is too worried about seeming ungrateful. He has made no such covenant and can grouse if he pleases. Carbuncle has been Noctis’ friend almost as long as Lunafreya herself. Ramuh is gruff, yet kind, and agrees readily. Titan takes more convincing, and she and Noctis nearly brush in passing. She would have liked to stay, but there is more to do. They will meet soon enough, Ravus assures her. Perhaps in Altissia they will reunite.

Perhaps, Lunafreya agrees. Perhaps… In truth, she wonders if they will ever see Noctis again. That which killed their mother has been following them. She can feel it, smell its distant odor of malice and decay. It doesn’t want them per se, although their blood will be an added bonus. No, it wants what King Regis entrusted to their mother when he traded his freedom for his son’s life.

They each take a turn carrying it- not just Ravus and herself, but Umbra and Pryna as well. They rotate; the humans tucking the bit of jewelry into the safest place on their person that they can think of. Lunafreya slides the ring through the dog’s collars when it comes to their turn. Indeed, the dogs are probably the safest, as animals are most likely to escape and least likely to be searched. Lunafreya trusts them to return to either herself or Noctis should the worst happen.

The Worst comes for them when they are forced to skirt around the edges of Lucis. At one time, this might have been a safe place, but no place is safe now. Perhaps there are yet those who sympathize with the royal families. No one looks twice as brother and sister pass by; two flaxen-haired giants among the dark-haired and dark-eyed Lucians. Lunafreya sends a silent prayer of thanks to Shiva for their seeming invisibility. No sooner has it been offered than the dogs stop short and growl. They glance once at their mistress who shoos them off. They dart into the crowd and disappear. She turns and sees at once what their keener senses had detected.

Ravus steps between her and...whatever that is. It’s armor. Sort of. But it isn’t the classical plate mail or tactical gear of the royal guard, nor is it the hard-edged machinery of an MT. It is almost as if it has scales; great places of keratin that fold and bend as the soldier walks. There is almost certainly a man inside; the one they call the Destroyer.

“Glauca,” Ravus growls, sweeping the tails of his coat back to grab his sword. Lunafreya opens her mouth to tell him not to be stupid, that they’ve got to run, then she sees what he has: the ring of MTs and machine mounted troops surrounding them. They will have to fight. There is no escape.

“You have something that does not belong to you,” Glauca begins, voice a thunderous mechanized growl. “Return the Ring of Lucis and I will allow you to live.”

Lunafreya gives him her Deeply Unimpressed face. “No you won’t.”

Glauca lets out a gravelly chuckle. “No, I won’t. Well, you might Your Ladyship. The Empire still has need of your healing touch. Your brother, however…”

It is Lunafreya’s turn to step in front of him, trident appearing in her hands. It doesn’t matter that she’s barely shoulder high to her brother. She will send this Imperial dog running squealing with his tail between his legs.

“He might make a useful addition to the army, or he can serve as a lesson to others. Your choice.”

“You forget General,” Lunafreya says calmly. “I have the favor of the Astrals. They have granted me their power. Only Noctis may wield the ring, just as only I have the power to cleanse the starscourge. What good is the ring to you? Steal it and you hasten your own destruction.”

Glauca laughs, prompting another growl from Ravus.

“Don’t let him taunt you, brother,” Lunafreya mutters. “Between us, we can deal with him.”

Ravus wishes he had his sister’s confidence. He can see that they are outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time.

“Start chanting,” her replies. “I’ll take care of these tin soldiers.”

Lunafreya slams the butt of her trident against the pavement initiating a blinding snowstorm. While Shiva provides a distraction, Ravus leaps at the nearest trooper and brings his sword down hard. His size is his greatest advantage, and he swings his greatsword through the automatons with the zeal of one who has lost much and has been saving his rage for just such and occasion.

He makes a sizeable dent in the supporting forces before he turns back to Lunafreya. She is no shrinking sylleblossom, but asking her to face the likes of Glauca alone is unreasonable. Even with the Astrals help, with the reduced support troops, it is becoming abundantly clear that this is not a battle they can win. They will surely be overpowered; himself killed or pressganged, and Lunafreya taken prisoner. One way or another, they will be made examples to the rest of the world.

Unless...

Ravus is not a Lucian King, he has no right to wield its power. Yet if something should happen to Noctis, he is the only option left. A Tenebraen prince is a thing unheard of. The Astrals will have to be satisfied with a rare curiosity in place of their chosen sacrifice. Ravus isn’t wild about the idea, but if it will keep his his sister safe… Lunafreya cries out- more in surprise than pain- as she is sent sprawling to the pavement. Ravus dives between her and Glauca, collapsing to his knees with the force of the blocked blow.

Enough. The Astrals will have to take what they can get. Throwing Glauca back, Ravus sheaths his sword.

“So eager to throw your life away?” he laughs.

“If it’s for a good cause,” Ravus rumbles, and slides the ring onto his finger. The ring is small, just barely fits over the last knuckle of his pinky. As soon as it does, power surges through him with all the searing force of a lightning bolt. Ravus collapses to his knees, gripping his left hand with his right. He doesn’t even try to hold back a scream. He tries to breathe through it, past it. It’s about then that he realizes the square has vanished, and he’s kneeling before the biggest suit of armor he’s ever seen. He is tiny in comparison. Ravus Nox Fleuret, the tallest man in any room, is no larger than one of the bolts that holds the plate mail together. He swallows hard, the terrible realization that he’s bitten off far more than he can chew sinking in.

 _‘You are not a son of Lucis,’_ Bahamut intones, somewhere between annoyed and confused.

 _‘No, My Lord,’_ Ravus answers, automatically falling into diplomat mode. _‘I seek your aid to protect your chosen Oracle, my sister. Her life is in danger. We cannot fight this abomination alone.’_

Somewhere behind the enormous visor, he senses reptilian eyes narrowing. _‘The power of the Astrals comes with a price. What will you give in exchange?’_

 _‘What use is a prince to Tenebrae?’_ he asks. _‘Take what you will.’_

_‘So be it.’_

The scream tears out of him unbidden. Bahamut vanishes in a sickening flash of light and color. Lunafreya has not yet gotten up from where she fell. Glauca is still staring, somehow managing to look incredulous behind a full face mask. Ravus does not give him the opportunity for further comment.

The battle is ferocious, yet quick. Before long Glauca crashes to the pavement, still as a stone, Ravus’ sword sticking out of his back. He and Lunafreya watch as the body dissolves into a noxious purple mist, leaving only a tarry puddle to tell the tale. The moment the last particle of Glauca dissolves, pain rockets up Ravus’ arm from his finger to his brain. At once he drops to his knees, clutching his arm out of sheer reflex despite the immortal flames licking up and down the sacrificed limb. He can’t help the screams, can’t help curling up on his side on the pavement, as if this will somehow reverse the damage. His screams trail off into a strangled sob as the ring tumbles to the ground, clinking musically against the concrete. Lunafreya snatches it up and drops to her knees at his side. Ravus lies there and tries not to vomit. He got what he wanted. His sister is safe. The rest doesn’t matter.

“Ravus,” Lunafreya hisses, cradling him close. He almost misses the words of the prayer, interspersed as they are with admonishments and curses he was unaware she knew. Light and warmth bubble around him and the pain eases off somewhat.

“You great stupid fool,” she sobs. He had not realized until that moment that she was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, not really sure what it is he’s done.

“Come on, we have to go.”

He lets her wrestle him to his feet, follows drunkenly as she pulls him by his remaining hand. All around them, things are on fire. It provides enough cover for them to disappear into the crowd once more. They run and run and run and run until Lunafreya is panting and Ravus can barely see straight. Still they keep going, now at a rapid, stumbling walk. When at last they stop, it’s at the battered door of a run-down block of apartments. A sturdy man with a grown-out mohawk opens the door, mouth open to tell them off. Instead, he stops short and steps back.

“Princess,” he breathes, disbelieving. “Come in.”

“I am in your debt, Libertus,” she says. “My brother’s been injured. Might we stay here for a day or two?”

“Of course,” Libertus stammers, hastily shutting the door behind them and coming around Ravus’ other side to help keep him on his feet. They guide him to the oldest, ugliest sofa Ravus has ever seen, but sinks down onto it gladly.

“You’ll be safe here,” their host promises. “Don’t worry.”

Thus assured, Ravus gives in and passes out.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Noctis is treated to some introspection.

The Regalia sees them through most of their journey. It was a gift, custom made so that Noct could drive without using his feet. It can also be driven in the usual manner, and Ignis generally serves as pilot with Prompto as navigator. From the back seat, Gladiolus reads and Noctis sleeps. The plush leather upholstery reminds him of the armchairs in his father’s study. He would do his homework there sometimes, or read. It makes it easy to fall asleep, feeling safe and protected by his friends and his father’s ghost. No one chides him about it. People sometimes describe sleeping children as “recharging”. It isn’t a joke with Noctis.

It seems their fear about Noctis and Prompto’s magitek implants being traceable is unfounded. If it were true, they’d have had a drop ship descending on them before they crossed the border. As it is, it’s proven...not easy, exactly, but far less arduous than anyone had imagined to dodge imperial attention. Noctis can walk well enough to handle sight-seeing, or trekking a few miles when the Regalia unexpectedly breaks down or runs out of gas. He has enough balance and leg strength to ride a chocobo, provided it isn’t too spirited. Stairs are something against which he harbors a personal grudge. Running is out of the question. Regis never tried to make him learn to dance. There are a pair of well-worn crutches floating in the Armiger among all the weapons that he occasionally pulls out. He avoids summoning the wheelchair if he can.

Hunts...take some ingenuity. Normally, he hangs back with Prompto, casting offensive or defensive spells as needed while Prompto picks off enemies from a distance with a gun. If he cannot manage the terrain, or something decides to chase them, it’s either Gladio or, oddly, little Prompto who boosts him onto their back. Gladio is huge. Riding piggyback on him is much like clinging for dear life to the back of an unbroken chocobo. Prompto is closer to Noctis’ height, but his more extensive implants make him freakishly strong for his size. Noct sometimes sits on his shoulders just for the amusement value. Stacked one on top of the other, they’re more than a head taller than Gladio. Ignis has carried him, but less gracefully and for shorter distances. Despite his height, he’s not made of cast iron the way Gladio is, or titanium like Prompto, and Noctis’ implants make him heavier than he looks. It’s a shortcoming Ignis takes personally.

Prompto also serves as medic, his electrical bits enable him to monitor Noctis’ health in a way that a thermometer and blood pressure cuff cannot. He’s the only one with any knowledge of magitek, specialized though it is. More than once he’s repaired the delicate receptors that connect the machinery to Noct’s muscle, bone, and nerves. In the tent, they sleep side by side with Ignis and Gladio hemming them in. In a caravan, they get the bed, with Ignis on the sofa and Gladio stretched out on the floor. On the rare occasions they can afford a hotel, Prompto and Noctis share the bed farthest from the door. Gladio and Ignis occupy the other, putting themselves between their prince and danger even while they sleep.

It’s almost like a vacation, or would be if not for the constant gnawing worry, the sense of urgency running in the background. Like a thing alive it lurks among them; the shadow of their mission looming over all and sucking the happiness from moments that should be full of joy. Noct does not dread marrying Luna, he likes her well enough, it could definitely be worse. What he dreads is what comes after. Not the wedding night- though that is its own set of worries- but the sacrifice he must make. It seems pointless, really. Why marry Luna just to leave her a widow? Possibly with a small child? It seems a cruel thing to do. As for sacrificing himself...some nights it bothers him more than others, and Carbuncle is exhausted by the time dawn comes from chasing away so many nightmares. 

Mostly it doesn’t bother him. Dying is something everyone does eventually. The only thing different is Noctis knows more or less when and how his death will happen. At least he’ll have a reason aside from old age, the injustice of an injury, or unfairness of an attack or random flicker of fate for leaving this life. He doesn’t mind for himself so much. His body has always been more of a burden; something he drags around as opposed to something that conveys him. Even now, while he’s still alive and among them, he feels guilty for having to leave his friends. They’ll miss him, they will mourn, and he wishes he could spare them that. For now, he tries to smile, to live in the moment, and capture every instance in his memory like one of Prompto’s countless snapshots. This much he can take with him.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis does something crazy, stupid, and brave.

For a while it works. For a while, all goes more or less according to plan. Of course, it cannot last. In Altissia, it all goes to hell. Niflheim catches up to them; Leviathan is enraged, and Izunia shows his true colors. Everyone has always thought him slippery and sleazy; politically dangerous, but not necessarily physically. Noct had long suspected the Chancellor might one day stab him in the back. He had not expected the act to be quite so literal. The knife doesn’t hit anything important- unless one counts the circuits connecting the magitek implants to his spine. At once his legs go dead, sending him crashing to the broken concrete. Prompto tries to break his fall, but Izunia casts him aside. He lands hard some distance away and does not get up. Just out of reach, Luna lies concussed, trident still gripped in her hand. Noct tries to crawl toward her, dragging himself on his elbows. In her other hand, is the ace that’s been hiding up their collective sleeve.

Knowing Niflheim would try to use it for their own ends, his father had left the Ring of Lucis with Queen Sylva. It is a grim sort of engagement ring, but without it, Noctis cannot harness the power of the crystal.

The knife falls a second time, higher up, and Noctis tastes blood. The Chancellor’s boot connects with the back of his neck, and Noctis mentally curses at just how little effort it takes to force his face against the pavement. He desperately chants inside his head, summons the will for a spell, but the pressure against his neck is making it hard to think, let alone breathe. If he could finish...just finish…

Ignis arrives to see Lunafreya out cold and Noctis bleeding under Izunia’s boot. He grabs for his knives, then notices Noctis’ outstretched hand twitching, reaching...

_Oh._

At the far end of the plaza, there is a groan and a shift of broken sidewalk as Prompto peels himself off the street. One arm is badly bent and one side of his face looks a bit flat. He shakes it off and tries to stand but collapses as soon as he gets his legs under him. Ignis cannot pause to observe. Instead, he dives between Izunia and the princess, snatching up what she has in her hand. By the time Izunia turns to look at him, the Ring is in Ignis’ possession.

Ignis has been trained in combat, has been on countless hunts, but he’s never actually had to kill anyone. The thought makes his heart hammer in his chest, but he readies his daggers just the same. Izunia cannot be allowed to take Lunafreya, Noctis, or the Ring. Ignis isn’t at all confident that he can best Izunia, but he can at least distract him until Gladio and Ravus get here, and if not… The Ring weighs heavy as lead, cold as ice in his trouser pocket. It is said that a Glaive once made use of the Ring’s power. Prince Ravus paid a terrible price, but he lived to tell the tale after receiving the Astrals’ strength. Perhaps a noble intent, rather than noble blood, is all that is needed?

Satisfied that prince and princess are not going anywhere, Izunia advances on him, hand outstretched.

“The ring, if you please.”

Ignis does not please. “Away from them. Now. Else you’ll be testing the sharpness of my blades.”

“Now now, my boy, there’s no need for that.”

Suddenly, the nervousness over potentially killing someone is gone. Ignis is entirely sure he wants to run Izunia through. The ingratiating tone and serpent’s smile make his skin crawl.

“Be gone,” Ignis orders. “Walk away now and you may retreat with your neck intact.”

“Such hostility,” the chancellor muses. “Whatever have I done to offend?”

Ignis resists the urge to ask if the offenses are to be limited to this year alone, or are to include previous crimes? Instead, he holds his tongue. Izunia is moving slowly away from Noctis and his fiancée as Izunia approaches, and that is all to his advantage.

“Now really, advancing on your own Chancellor. These are traitorous actions for a royal retainer.”

That was a mistake. “Says the man who orchestrated the death of Regis Lucis Caelum.”

The Chancellor seems taken aback; whether it’s an act, or Izunia is genuinely surprised that he knows the truth, Ignis neither knows nor cares.

“Are you quite sure?” he challenges. “What if it was...a saboteur?”

Ignis doesn’t manage to stifle a yipe as the shot echoes and pain tears through his shoulder. He whips around to see Prompto standing unsteadily, shakily holding his gun.

“I’m sorry!” he calls out, apparently fighting with his own limbs. “I can’t help it! He’s overridden my controls!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Izuna says. With a snap of his fingers, Prompto’s jaws clamp shut. Izuna shakes his head and sighs. “Good help is so hard to find. This little one needs to learn his place. Teach him a lesson for me, won’t you?”

As if jerked on a leash, Prompto staggers forward and squeezes off another round. Ignis dodges narrowly. Prompto has always had impeccable aim. This is going to be extremely awkward. Losing Prompto to his programming has long been a fear somewhere in the back of everyone’s mind. Ignis isn’t sure the fact that Prompto is crying and screaming at his own hands to stop makes it better or worse. Either way, he’s got to be stopped- and so has Izunia.

“Ignis! Prompto! What on Eos?”

Ignis breathes a sigh of relief. The proverbial cavalry has arrived in the form of Ravus and Gladio. Prompto screams from behind closed lips, unable to explain.

“Take them!” Ignis snaps, gesturing at the semi-conscious royalty. Noctis has dragged himself- battered and bloody- to shelter Lunafreya’s body with his own. If only she were awake, she could heal him. As it is, Noctis’ blood is staining her gown with alarming speed. “Prompto and I will deal with the Chancellor.”

“But…” Gladio argues.

“Just _go!_ ”

Mercifully, they do as they are told. That leaves him and Prompto, except Prompto, bless him, is of no help just now. He hates to do it, but perhaps it would be for the best. With a short “I’m sorry,” Ignis lunges at Prompto. He has no desire to kill him, just put him out of the fight. As is so often the case with faulty machinery, sometimes it’s best to simply turn it off. It just so happens, he knows where Prompto’s “off” switch is, but it will be fiendishly hard to reach. Prompto seems to be trying to work with him as much has he can- which, admittedly, isn’t much. Ignis tumbles forward, spins, flips--

The heel of his hand comes down between Prompto’s brows. At once his eyes close and he collapses bonelessly to the street. That leaves only Izunia to be dealt with. Or it would, if he hadn’t summoned a dozen odd MTs.

“That hardly seems fair,” Ignis muses.

“The penalty for treason is death,” Izunia says mildly. “Pity. You were always my favorite, you know.”

He cannot fight so many. Not on his own. He has to grab Prompto and get out of here, yet there is no clear path of retreat. Slipping a hand inside his pocket, Ignis fingers the ring.

_Kings of Lucis, lend me your strength…_

He slips it onto his finger. The ring is too large, but it stays put. Power crackles around his hand and up his arm. Suddenly the chancellor is gone, replaced by a presence much more terrifying. Automatically, Ignis drops to one knee in obeisance. Bahamut, however, seems more perplexed than angered.

‘ _Are there no kings left in Lucis?_ ’ the Drakonian wonders.

It takes Ignis a minute to realize he must be referring to Ravus. ‘ _O great god of power and strength, I seek no glory for myself. Your chosen king lies injured and in grave danger. I wish only for the strength to protect him._ ’

‘ _Are you prepared to trade your life for his?_ ’

Ignis bows lower. ‘ _Yes. I exist to serve my king. Without him, I have no purpose._ ’

‘ _And you would pay the price in exchange for my power?_ ’

‘ _Gladly._ ’

‘ _Done._ ’

Ignis manages to turn the scream of agony into a primal battle cry. Power surges through him, driving him to rise, to draw his daggers, and lunge at the chancellor. The look of shock on the old bastard’s face is worth it. Ignis tears into him with everything he has, but to no avail. He lands several hits, but Izunia tucks his tail between his legs and flees. The moment he tips his hat and drops his own weapon, pain arcs across Ignis’ nerves more powerful than any bolt spell. His vision swims, the world tilts, and darkness claims him.


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team takes some time to regroup.  
> Also hugs.

Well. That could have gone better. Admittedly, it could have gone worse, but the outcome is far from what everyone had hoped. Ignis, gray-faced and bandaged, says little. Luna, still a bit cross-eyed, is unsure on whom to focus her attention: Noctis or his valet. Noct dozes face-down in a haze of pain while Ravus and Gladio try to make sense of the damage to Noct’s magitek implants. They aren’t having much luck without Prompto. There had been no sign of the little gunman when Gladio went back to assist his friends. All he had found was Ignis lying on the ground unconscious.

“I could help?” Luna offers.

“That’s kind of you, Princess,” Gladio replies, “but it would be best to repair the implants first. If we try to fix it before then, it’ll just heal broken.”

“Oh, yes,” she agrees. “Yes, of course. Mr. Scientia, are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?”

Ignis carefully shakes his head. “Thank you, My Lady, but no. This was the price of my decision. I do not regret it.”

He can almost hear her nod. Ignis leans back against the headboard and gropes for the nearest object. It turns out to be Noctis’ bare shoulder. Ignis distantly hopes they’ve left his trousers or at least his undershorts intact. He and Lady Lunafreya might be engaged, but betrothal does not merit that level of...indecorum. He is startled out of his thoughts as Noctis reaches and takes his hand.

“Specs?” Noct croaks.

“I’m here,” Ignis answers, squeezing his hand.

“‘S Prom?”

“I’m afraid...he’s been captured.”

Noct tenses, tightens his grip, but says nothing. Without Prompto, there is no one to affect repairs to his magitek implants. True they could go to a hospital, but that would surely bring every MT in a ten mile radius down on their heads. The stab wounds were deep, but cut clean, nothing a potion couldn’t remedy. Noct is in decent shape, considering. Except now, his mobility will be severely limited.

“We have to get him back,” Noct says decisively.

“How we gonna do that?” Gladio huffs. “Without Prom to fix your magitek, you can’t even sit up.”

“What if he didn’t need it?” Ravus asks.

Everyone turns to look at him.

“The magitek. What if he didn’t need it?” he repeats. “Isn’t the True King supposed to have healing powers as great, if not greater, than the Oracle? If Noctis puts on the Ring of Lucis, could he perhaps heal himself?”

His retainers exchange confused looks.

“I suppose it’s...possible,” Ignis drawls doubtfully.

“Guess it can’t make things worse,” Gladio shrugs.

“Noct?” Luna asks, brushing his bangs away from his face.

Noct is silent for a long moment as he thinks about it.

“Alright. Gimme the damn ring.”

Ravus hands it over and Noctis examines it. For such a small thing, it has caused so much pain and suffering.

“I’m really starting to hate this thing,” Noct mutters. “Alright you stupid piece of jewelry, do your thing and make it good.”

Brows drawn and jaw set, Noct shoves the ring onto his finger. The scream he lets out is enough to shatter glass. Luna grabs his shoulders, heedless of the fiery glow of the ring’s power as it sears over Noctis’ skin. She lurches back has he vomits black into her lap. Dismissing her ruined gown, she seizes a trash can and holds it for him. Black cascades down his back, down his legs, soaking his trousers and the bedspread. Gladio and Ravus recoil in horror, Ignis just holds on.

After a few terrible seconds Noct’s retching subsides into labored sobs. Luna sets the trash can aside and gathers him close. Weakly, Noct winds his free arm around her neck and hides his face in her shoulder. Ignis reaches to smooth his back as Noct’s body shivers through the aftermath. Ravus fetches towels as Gladio tries to wrestle Noct’s pants off without actually touching the gunk.

“Six!” he exclaims.

“What is it?” Ignis demands, thousands of horrible possibilities chasing through his mind.

It takes Ravus a minute to find the words to explain. “The magitek, it’s just...it’s melted away. Like it was never there…”

“I...I can feel it,” Noct says quietly. “My legs. My feet. I can feel them. Really feel them.”

Luna smiles and pets his hair, averting her eyes. “The ring has cleansed you. Now it is my turn.”

Noctis breathes deeply as she begins the prayer, letting her words carry him on a warm current. All too soon it is over and he feels...better. Better, but not great either. Noct gently disentangles himself from Luna and pushes himself up on his elbows. Ravus drapes a towel over him to preserve the royal dignity.

Without the bulky implants, Noct’s legs are twig thin. Although they seem straight and unblemished, they also don’t look as if they’ll support his weight. He manages to swing them over the side of the bed, but scooching forward and placing even a little bit of weight on his feet proves what he’d suspected: this isn’t going to work.

“Brilliant,” he grumbles. “Well, I guess it’s a start.” Closing his eyes, he rummages around in the Armiger for a moment. He knows he put it...ah! A pair of leg braces and a set of crutches materialize in his hands. “Somebody find me some pants. We’re going to rescue Prompto.”

Gladio fetches him a pair of pants, but they don’t set off immediately. It’s late. They’re all bruised and exhausted. Noct and Ignis already occupy one bed. Ravus and Luna pile into the second and Gladio settles on the flop out. They can’t even enjoy a good night's sleep. For one, both Nox Fleurets snore. Not loudly, but with a certain regal insistence. For another, Ravus has to wake his sister up every few hours just to be sure that he can. The only one who truly gets any rest is Gladio, who seems determined to out-snore the Nox Fleurets.

“They’re enough to wake the dead,” Ignis muses.

“We’ll have to get some earplugs,” Noctis whispers back.

“I don’t really mind, do you?”

“No. Is it wrong that I think it’s freaking adorable Luna lady-snores?”

Ignis can’t help chuckling at that. “Not at all.”

The relative silence stretches so long that Ignis thinks Noctis must have fallen asleep.

“Specs? You okay?”

Noctis’ voice is small in the darkness, underlaid with guilt and worry. Ignis squeezes his hand.

“This was my choice,” he reminds him. “I was and am prepared to live with the consequences.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ignis shifts, not sure how to answer. He’s not that much older than Noct, but he’s always taken care of him. Like one of the many weapons in the armiger, Ignis’ job is to be there whenever Noctis needs him. This…this will make his job much harder, but not impossible. He’ll manage, he just isn’t sure...how.

“I’m a bit sore, I suppose,” Ignis admits. “It’s quite an adjustment to make, but I promise I won’t slow you down.”

“Iggy, I’m the slowest one here. I think you’ll be okay.”

Ignis tried to smile but it hurts. His face is throbbing so he doesn’t notice the tears until they’ve slid down to his chin.

“Excuse me,” he stammers. “I’m sorry…”

Without a word, Noct pulls him close and puts his arms around him. It feels strange and wrong for their roles to be reversed like this, but now the tears have started, they cannot be stopped. Noctis says nothing, just quietly strokes his hair until it’s over.

“It’ll be okay, Specs,” Noctis assures him, settling his head firmly on Ignis’ shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

His king has spoken. Ignis has no choice but to believe.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is hard work and small victories.  
> Also, Ignis and Ravus have THE WORST sense of humor.

They don’t leave the next day or even the day after that. Well, they leave the hotel, but they don’t head straight for Niflheim. Ignis has to learn how to function in the dark, and Noctis’ nerves and muscles might work now, but he’s never had to use them before. It’s a steep learning curve for them both. Luna drives with her brother riding shotgun. The Lucians squeeze into the back.

They stop at a chocobo ranch to regroup. With a fair bit of assistance from Ravus and Luna, Ignis puts a meal together. It’s not up to his usual polished standards, but it tastes just fine. The best part is the pleased smile in his face. He can still do this much.

Once they’ve set up camp, Gladio takes inventory. Prompto is gone, and Iggy’s lost his sight. That leaves them with one Royal Mess who still can’t walk for shit, a one-armed paladin, and a girl. Not that he wouldn’t feed anyone who insulted any one of their little band their teeth, but Gladio is starting to feel just a hair overwhelmed. He had no idea how much of everyone’s weight Iggy had been pulling. Now he can barely pull his own. It is a lot of slack for one guy to pick up.

Gladio tries to focus on Noct. They’ve done physio before. The only difference is that Noct can feel it now and every exercise is accompanied by a lot more muttered swearing. But Noct can’t recover from twelve years of atrophy in a week, and Prompto may not have that long. It doesn’t help that the days have been getting shorter too. They’re all running out of time.

Privately, Gladio thinks they are all going to die. He doesn’t mind so much for himself, but Noct needs to be alive at the end of all this, and Luna too. How they are going to do this he has no idea. Maybe it’s just the shock of seeing Iggy fumbling around wearing sunglasses to try to hide the worst of his scars. Under any other circumstances it wouldn’t matter so much, but he’s a member of the Crownsguard. They all are. Ignis has to be able to perform his duties, which include protecting the king. Ordinarily, Ignis would be forced to step down and...and… And Gladio really doesn’t like that idea. They need Iggy. Even if he’s just cheering from the sidelines, they need him. And he needs them. And now Gladio feels kind of guilty for his previous thoughts. Well, no one needs to know but him.

“C’mon, Princess,” he says to Noct, who is doing his damnedest to do leg lifts and having only minimal success. “Is that all you got?”

Across the campsite, Luna scowls.

“Let it go,” Ravus advises. “He’s a roughian. He only does it to taunt.”

“Which is precisely the problem,” she grumbles. “He does it again--”

“I can’t hear you, Princess,” Gladio sing-songs. Noct counts off louder.

Lunafreya’s face goes cold and stony. “That’s enough.”

She marches across the hard-packed earth to where Noct and Gladio are training. Noct sees her coming and shies back. He knows danger when he sees it. Gladio, however, is not as finely tuned to the Oracle’s moods. Rather than let him have an earful, she smiles sweetly.

“I’m sorry, did you require something?”

“Huh?” Gladio responds, looking up.

“Did you not ask, and I quote: ‘c’mon princess, is that all you got’?”

“Um…” Gladio stalls. Luna’s smile is growing more polite by the second. Noct does his best to edge away.

Gladio shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I didn’t… Er… I mean um… That is…”

“You must forgive me,” she says, giving a little bow. “I had forgotten. You’ve never seen what I can do, therefore, you haven’t an accurate assessment of my abilities. Shall we?”

The trident appears in her hands. Gladio looks to Noct for help, but Noct shakes his head.

“No way dude, you’re on your own.”

Luna leads the way to and empty stretch of ground and they square off.

“Has she called him on it at last?” Ignis says, finding his way over to Noct who has been joined by Ravus. “I was wondering how long she’d put up with it.”

“Indeed,” Ravus confirms. “Looks as if he’s trying to go easy on her. She won’t take kindly to that.”

“Oh I do wish I could see this,” Ignis says, grinning for the first time since his misadventure.

Honestly, there isn’t much to see. Gladio tries to be a gentleman at first, but Luna’s not inclined to return the favor. People like to remark how slender and delicate she is, but she’s nearly as tall as Noct. She might be narrowly built, but there’s nothing fragile about her. The first round is mainly to show Gladio she means business. The second, she well and truly hands him his ass. Tenebraen fighting is different from Lucian and Niflheim styles. Since Lucis wasn’t at war with Tenebrae, Noctis doesn’t remember ever studying their techniques. It could be that, or it could be Gladio knows he’s got to take his medicine. He goes down flat on his back and taps out.

“Okay, okay,” he grunts. “You made your point. I get it. My apologies, your majesty.”

“Just ‘Luna’, is fine,” she says, and her smile is soft this time as she offers a hand to help him up.

\--

It isn’t that late yet, but the sun has set and everyone is safe within the bounds of the ranch. Noct is already asleep in the caravan, exhausted by the day’s training. Gladio has also elected to turn in, his snores distantly audible from outside. Luna, who is a bit more fastidious than the men, is off tidying up at the ladies showers. That leaves Ignis and Ravus contemplating the campfire. The dishes have long since been cleared away, and there are no additional chores that need to be done. It doesn’t seem the time to propose a card game, or a round of “King’s Knight”, so all is quiet.

“I can wait for Luna,” Ravus offers into the silence.

Ignis shakes his head. “I’m not quite ready to turn in yet. I like to watch the fire.”

Ravus cocks his head. “You can see it?”

“I can see the brightness, feel the heat. If you’ll pardon me a moment of sentiment...I’m not ready to be alone in the dark.”

Ravus nods, consenting his point. They sit and watch the wood smoke and pop. Some of the branches weren’t as dry as they could have been, and a thin column of smoke rises toward the night sky.

“Was it...hard?” Ignis asks quietly. “Was it difficult for you?”

“It was like losing a limb,” Ravus deadpans. Ignis’s head turns sharply as if to look at him, and Ravus can’t help but chuckle. After a moment, Ignis joins him.

“I’m sorry,” Ravus says without a hint of remorse. “I’m told I have an appaling sense of humor.”

“Well, you can laugh or you can cry, I suppose,” Ignis muses.

“Quite,” Ravus agrees. “It...gets better? You learn what still comes easy, what takes some ingenuity, and what’s well and truly out of the question. The hardest part is learning to ask for help. The second hardest is teaching everyone else that you don’t always need their help.”

Ignis nods. He’s familiar with that to a point. It’s a fine line to walk in allowing Noctis as much independence as possible while seamlessly supplementing what he truly can’t manage on his own. Ignis supposes it is his turn now to learn what’s within his limits and what will require assistance.

“Well,” Ignis says, “Noct used to accuse me of being able to do things with my eyes closed. I suppose we’ll find out.”

“I do everything single-handed these days, I believe you’ll manage.”

Ignis groans, but he’s smiling.

\--

They spend a little over a week trying to compress months of training into days. It’s met with limited success. Noct’s body is going to take time to build muscle, and that can’t be rushed. Ignis can learn and compensate, but at this stage everything is new and a struggle and probably will be for a while. There’s only so much they can do for him. Regis’ old walking stick had been left in the armiger, so Noctis pulls it out and gives it to Ignis.

“Just till you get good at this,” Noct tells him. “Both of us are gonna ditch this junk.” He taps the foot of one crutch against the ground. “For a cane, it’s pretty cool. Brass handle, mahogany stick, plus it’s got a sword inside.”

“Remarkable,” Ignis says and smiles.

After a few days, he finally relents and allows Luna to look him over. There’s nothing to be done about his left eye, that’s fried beyond recovery. The right, however…

“It looks like scarring as opposed to dead tissue,” she muses. “May I?”

With a sigh, he nods. Gently cradling his face in both hands, Luna prays over him. The air sparkles around them briefly and they both look up.

“How’s that?” she asks.

“Everything’s more...gray than black,” Ignis observes.

“Your pupil is reacting to the light, so you must be picking up something.” Frowning, she pushes her bangs back out of her face.

“Not especi-- What was that?”

“What was what?” Noct asks, a spike of hope surging through him.

“I thought… My Lady, did you move just now?”

“I pushed my hair back.” She repeats the gesture.

“I saw that!” Ignis shouts, nearly jumping out of his seat. “Rather, I saw something vaguely arm-shaped move. There weren’t really any details. It’s vanished now.”

Experimentally, Noct waves one hand.

“Hello, who’s that?” Ignis asks. “Is someone waving?”

“I am!” Noct grins.

“I don’t see it now you’ve stopped,” Ignis remarks as Noct puts his hand down. “I can’t see any of you just standing there, but the moment you move, I can see the gesture.”

“So you can track motion?” Luna asks.

Ignis is grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, I believe I can! This is marvelous!”

It is marvelous. They all pile onto him for a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis' partially regaining his vision is inspired by this true story:
> 
>  
> 
> [Woman Who Sees Rain but Not Her Daughter's Smile](https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2014/05/26/314621545/the-blind-woman-who-sees-rain-but-not-her-daughters-smile)
> 
>  
> 
> Short Version: A woman's primary optic nerves were damaged. However, the human body is a weird and wonky thing. All the little secondary and tertiary nerves began to pick of the slack as her eyes healed from the trauma, so she can still detect motion even if she can't see color or make out facial features anymore.
> 
> I thought that was pretty cool.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes part ways.

They can’t wait any longer, they have to go after Prompto, after the crystal. Niflheim had removed it to their own frozen fortress for safe keeping the same day they’d escorted King Regis and his son back home. They can’t just stroll up to the front gates. That will only get them captured or worse. Prompto might know how to break into this place, but Prompto’s on the wrong side of the door. So they’ve got to find another way in.

Noct’s having flashbacks of that old cartoon he used to watch; the one where the teenagers were always searching for ghosts. Any minute now someone will suggest the split up so they can cover more ground. Which...honestly isn’t a bad idea. It’d be best not to have all the royals in one spot. Nobody’s going to separate Ravus from Luna, and Gladio can’t keep an eye on both Ignis and Noct. Ignis and Ravus have gotten pretty chummy since Ignis lost his sight, maybe they can help each other if they do have to divide the party.

The fortress is vast; it’s impossible to mark one’s place, everything looks more or less the same. Noct absently wishes for a “you are here” sign like they have at the mall. Iggy’s walking stick rasps across the bare tile floor as he walks. He’s gotten pretty good at using it. Noct wishes he could say the same for himself. The braces keep his knees from buckling, but all he’s really doing is dragging himself along by the arms. He’s half tempted to summon the wheelchair just because it would be faster.

Their first encounter with hostiles, Noctis discovers he’s learned a new trick. MT’s swarm the hallway and Noct automatically falls back with Ignis even as his friends rush into the fray. He shouts for them to stand back as he looses a massive bolt of lightning. That takes down more than half of the mechanical troops, several of them exploding into bits of razor-edged shrapnel. Noctis throws himself at Ignis even as he shouts for him to duck. The hunk of plating shears through the thin air where they had been only moments ago. Noct and Ignis find themselves in a bewildered heap against the far wall.

“What on Eos?” Ignis asks, sounding more than a little shaky.

“Holy crap, did you just warp?” Gladio calls as Ravus brings his greatsword down through the head of the last MT.

“I think so?” Noct answers, shaken himself. The adrenaline is making him giddy, and he grins. “That was so cool!”

Noct wants to warp everywhere now that he knows he can. However, it’s a huge power-suck, and he’s already tired. Swallowing his pride, he summons the wheelchair. He steers while Ignis pushes. It’s a good compromise for both of them.

They run into surprisingly few enemies; it’s mostly sentinel automata and a few creatures. They’re not as bad as MTs, most of which are apparently deployed somewhere else. There’s plenty of evidence that there were robotic soldiers here, but not many actual troops. Aside from the machines, the place seems deserted. That doesn’t seem to make a difference to Luna who is quietly, calmly freaking the hell out.

“I don’t like this,” she repeats for the hundredth time. “This whole place reeks of Starscourge.”

It does. It’s kinda hard to miss. It’s only gotten worse the deeper they go. So far nothing befitting a horror movie has jumped out at them, which only adds to the tension.

“This place is too damn big,” Gladio grumbles.

“I hate to say this, but do you think maybe we should split up?” Noct asks. “One team can hunt for the crystal, the other looks for Prompto.”

They all exchange uneasy glances.

“It might get us out of here quicker,” Ravus comments. Noct takes that for a ‘yes’.

“Okay. Team Lucis will look for Prompto. Team Tenebrae will find the crystal. Sound good?”

“Perhaps I should accompany their magestes,” Ignis says. “If Prompto is injured or under imperial influence, a more familiar face might be comforting.”

He doesn’t say that if they run into trouble, Gladio shouldn’t have to throw Noct over one shoulder and drag Ignis along with his free hand. Ravus may have only one arm, but he can at least see where he’s going. They already know Luna can more than hold her own.

“Very well,” Luna agrees.

They split up. Prompto’s a cyborg, so maybe they’re keeping him in the machine shop somewhere. There are a lot of MT parts in the next area, and row after row of empty pods. At the far end of the room, there’s some sort of assembly rig. Looks like whoever was here last never got to… 

_Oh no._

“Prompto!” Noct shouts, rising up out of his wheelchair as much as he can without falling. Gladio picks up the pace, almost running over to where Prompto hangs inert from the huge metal frame. Noct flicks a crutch into one hand and stumbles toward his friend. He all but collapses on him, his free hand latching onto Prompto’s shoulder to keep himself upright as much as to make sure his friend is okay.

“Prompto wake up! Answer me! Prom!”

Gladio’s already wrenching the latches that hold Prompto in place apart with sheer brute force fueled by rage. The metal doesn’t stand a chance. Prompto whimpers and blinks himself awake. He shies back at first, obviously frightened, until he realizes who it is.

“Noct…” he croaks, staring at them as if certain he must be dreaming. His face scrunches as tears well up and spill over. “Guys… Guy’s I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay, kid, we know,” Gladio tells him in a surprisingly gentle tone. “You okay?”

“You should go,” Prompto insists. “Leave me here. Go find the crystal.”

“Like hell,” Noct tells him, becoming angry. “You’re coming with us.”

“No! No, I’ll only hurt you again. I don’t know what they did to me! I’m dangerous, you have to leave me here!” Tears stream down Prompto’s cheeks, muddying the dirt and oil already smeared across his skin.

“Prompto listen to me,” Noct tells him, looking him dead in the eye. “We’re not leaving you. It wasn’t your fault, okay? I trust you. So come on.”

Prompto looks back, still frightened, but he gives a shaky nod. “O-okay.” He swallows hard. “Where’s Iggy?”

“He’s with Luna and Ravus looking for the crystal. I don’t suppose you know where it is?”

“I know what area is under heaviest lockdown,” Prompto answers. “And I don’t think they’d layer anything else with three blast doors and a biometric scan.”

“That’s gotta be it,” Gladio agrees.

“Okay, let’s go catch up with the others,” Noct says, summoning his other crutch. “Prom, you ride with Gladio.”

“I’m fine,” Prompto instists. Noct wants to argue the point, but bites his lip. They don’t have time for this.

“Okay, whatever. Let’s just go.”

\--

The Nox Fleurets have found the blast doors leading to the crystal. Luna is trying to talk Ravus out of driving his sword through the locking mechanism. Prompto steps up and calmly holds his wrist to the scanner. There is a disarmingly cheerful “ding” and the doors slide open.

“Okay,” Gladio says. “Royals in the middle. Prom and I will take point. Ravus and Iggy bring up the rear.” No one argues. Weapons drawn, they move through the blast doors and down the endless hallway. Behind him, Luna shivers as she pushes Noct’s wheelchair.

“This isn’t right,” she breathes. “It’s too easy. It can’t possibly be this simple.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Noct warns her, though he privately agrees. Every nerve is screaming at him, his whole body taut with waiting for the ambush that must surely come.

There’s nothing at the end of the hall, just a catwalk too narrow for more than one person. At the end hangs the crystal chained in place. Noct lurches to his feet, Prompto reaches to steady him.

“I’m okay,” Noctis says, gently shaking him off. “I got this.”

Luna’s drawn her trident and Ravus his sword, but nothing’s jumped out at them yet. Noctis smiles for them, trying to be reassuring, before making his long, slow way across the catwalk. He pauses as a noise ghosts past his ears, but a quick glance around proves no one is there. Shrugging, he presses on.

The open geode reminds him of a mouth with millions of jagged teeth. The ring hurt, it is highly probably this will hurt too. Taking a deep breath, Noct braces himself and holds up the hand with the ring.

 _Please,_ he thinks, _help me stop the daemons._

Its as if strong hands have grabbed him. Instinctively he shouts and drops his crutches, grabbing for purchase on the massive stone as it tries to swallow him whole. He can hear the others each scream his name, and the heavy rumble of their footsteps as they charge across the catwalk to try to rescue him.

“Why your highness, what a surprise,” says an oily voice. “Can I give you a...leg up?”

Noct’s rude reply is lost in the chancellor’s laughter. “Guys!” Noct screams. “ _GUYS!_ ”  
Ardyn is droning on about something, probably his evil plan, but Noct has bigger problems right now. Like getting swallowed by a giant rock. He’d thought the ring was supposed to absorb the crystal’s powers, not the other way around. How the hell can he bring Light to the world if he’s stuck inside a rock?

Gladio’s strong arms latch around his middle. Prompto and Luna each grab an arm, Iggy and Ravus his legs. Together they pull, but it does not help. Ardyn watches, amused, before turning on them. One by one they let go in order to defend themselves. Luna’s slender fingers are the last to be pulled away.

“Noct!” she screams. “ _NOCT!_ ”

It’s the last thing he hears.

\--

‘ _A Lucian king at last,_ ’ Bahamut remarks. Noct fights back the urge to flip him off. It’s probably not wise to give an Astral the finger, no matter how much you want to. Instead he manages a:

‘ _Well. I’m here. Now what?_ ’

Bahamut seems amused. Noct wants to punch him in his gigantic face even though he won’t even scratch the paint on the armor.

‘ _You will learn,_ ’ Bahamut intones. ‘ _You will absorb the power of the crystal and the wisdom of your ancestors until you are ready for your final task._ ’

‘ _Yeah, about that,_ ’ Noct challenges. _‘You want me to lay down my life, I got some demands._ ’

‘ _Have you indeed?_ ’ Noct can feel if not see the arched brow. Floating in space as he is, Noct sticks his legs out. ‘ _Fix ‘em._ ’

‘ _The Ring has already…_ ’

‘ _So I can ACTUALLY do something,_ ’ Noct presses. ‘ _Niflheim won’t make it easy. I’m going to need to fight, to run. I have to be able to stand up if you want me to take the throne._ ’

The Drakonian nods. ‘ _So be it, Noctis son of Regis, Chosen King of Lucis. I will grant your request._ ’

 _Good_ , Noct thinks, and distantly hopes this won’t hurt too much or take too long.


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which catching up is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagging for vaguely NSFW-ish Noct/Luna.  
> Not even remotely explicit, but shenanigans do occur.
> 
> Just so ya know.

There is no one and nothing when he wakes up. Well, rather, the Nothing is gone, replaced by a cold and empty expanse of metal ceiling and tile floor. Stiffly, Noct picks himself up and marvels that he can even do that. Carefully, gingerly, he gathers his legs under him- a minor miracle in and of itself- and pushes himself to all fours. He holds the stance of a moment; shaky, off-balance, but he doesn’t fall. His legs hold him. Slowly, deliberately, he crawls to the metal railing and uses it to pull himself up. His legs shiver and tremble, but his knees remain more or less straight. He stands there for a good minute before taking a first cautious step. He doesn’t go down, and not just because he’s gripping the railing for dear life.

Noctis tries to remember the movements Gladio’s put him through a thousand times during physio. It’s so much harder without the larger man to push and pull his legs for him. The muscle is there now, however, even if the coordination is not. Noctis makes it down the long catwalk to face what remains of the blast doors. He’s out of railing and there’s a good eight foot gap between him and the doors. He thinks of his father’s walking stick, the one he gave to Iggy when he lost his sight. Closing his eyes, he reaches for it and hopes Iggy won’t mind him borrowing it for a bit. There’s….dust on it. It’s the best way he can think to describe it. No one has touched the walking stick in ages, though the rest of the weapons have seen hard and heavy use, each burning with an individual energy signature.

The massive shields and huge two-handed swords burn with Gladio’s bright red, the pistols and rifles smoke with Prompto’s blue, and the pole arms and javelins are alive with Ignis’ green. The trident is there too, tendrils of silver swirling delicately around it. There’s also an assortment of swords that Noctis doesn’t recognize, all of them twined with a thorny dark purple. He can only assume this is Luna and Ravus. Noctis breathes a heavy sigh of relief. His friends are still alive. Well, now they’ll know he’s okay too.

With a flick of his wrist, Noctis calls the walking stick into his hand. It offers far less stability than holding onto the rail, but it evens his balance and helps him stay on his feet. Belatedly, Noctis thinks about simply warping out of the fortress, but decides to hold off for the moment. It will be a long walk back to his friends, wherever they are. He’s going to need to pace himself. He could call the chair, could roll out of here, but he wants to try to do this. Bahamut promised him legs that work, and dammit, he’s going to use them.

The walls and floor are not as highly polished as he remembers, a thick layer of dust and grit covering everything. Has it been so long? Noct fervently hopes not. Motion caught out of the corner of his eye makes him stop short, free hand raised to sling a spell. He shouts and falls hard on his ass, cane clattering loudly to the hard, tile floor. Noct sits there for a minute, wind knocked out of him, staring at what had startled him: his own reflection. Except this can’t be right. This can’t possibly be right.

Abandoning the cane, he crawls forward and uses his wrist guard to wipe away the grime coating the wall. That’s him. Astrals above, that’s _him!_ He’d asked for his legs to be functional but this! He really should have been more specific. Trust the celestial sextet of absolute dicks to play a dirty practical joke on him. Not just his legs, but his body in general has grown. He’d swear he’s taller, and more heavily built than he had been. The softness is gone, his face all hard angles beneath a heavy beard. Six, yesterday he couldn’t grow more than the suggestion of facial hair if his life depended on it. Gladio ragged him about it all the time.

A horrible thought curdles in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he’s been gone longer than he thought. Maybe it’s been longer than hours, or days, or even weeks. Noct absently thinks he could live with “months”, but something tells him it’s worse than that. Retrieving the cane, he uses it and the wall to get back on his feet. He needs to get out of here. He needs to figure out what happened. _Now._

When he does find his way out, it’s into deserted, windswept midnight. There must be a storm coming, there isn’t a star in the sky. Unless…

In the distance, sickly purple-pink light swirls, vomiting out creatures not meant to walk beneath the sun. The bottom of Noct’s stomach drops out as he surveys a world drowned in solid black. Daemons. Starscourge. He’s been gone too long. He’s too late.

\--

The guy who picks him up doesn’t know who he is, and Noct doesn’t tell him. He lets him explain what happened. He’ll take him as far as Lestallum. That’s the only safe place left. Noct thanks him. Turns out he knew this kid once, back when he was just little. Ten years ago.

_Ten years._

Noct feels ill. Ten years for the guys to fight on their own, for Luna to try to hold the Darkness at bay all by herself. An entire decade gone. They probably thought he was dead. They might still think that, unless they noticed him pull the cane from the armiger. He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Even after all this time, he recognizes them through the dirty windows of the diner. Prompto sees him first. He goes pale beneath his freckles, color draining from his face as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Noct!”

They all turn to look. Noct can’t help the smile stretching his face or the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Guys!”

It’s impossible to tell who makes it to him first. They all pile on as if they’re playing football and he’s got the ball. Noct half expects the sheer weight of happiness to knock them to the ground and he doesn’t even care. However, with so many arms to hold him up, he can’t help but stay on his feet. Luna elbows her way to him, the guys making room for her.

“Dear Noctis,” she breathes before taking his face in both hands and kissing him. Noct blinks but soon melts into it. As first kisses go, it’s not bad. The guys hoot and make good-natured cat-calls. Noct ignores them, keeping his eyes closed for a moment after they’ve come up for air. When he looks up, he finally gets a chance to really look at them.

The gray twilight that lingers over Lestallum allows him to take in what ten years have done to them. They’re all bigger than he remembered- not taller, but bulkier, fully grown into their adult bodies. The only exception is Luna, who seems to have aged twice as much as everyone else. The guys may have different hairstyles and scruffy beards- all except Ignis, of course- but Luna’s golden hair has faded to platinum. Her body is strong and straight in his arms, but there isn’t an ounce of padding to her. She looks starved, exhausted, but the fierce light in her eyes still burns bright as the banished sun.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hugging her close. “I had no idea the stupid ring would take so long to recharge.”

“It’s alright,” she assures him, squeezing briefly and stepping back. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Iggy doesn’t need the walking stick anymore, which explains why it had lain unused in the armiger. He cooks them all a welcome home feast, nodding and moving his head from side to side as if grooving to a tune only he can hear. It takes Noct a minute to remember that Iggy can see things if they’re moving; perhaps he can see things that are stationary if he’s the one in motion. Ravus lends a hand- he has two now, one mechanical, one flesh. Everyone tries to forget about why Noct has returned, and focus on the fact that he’s here and they’re all together again. Noctis wants to ask what’s happened during his absence, but it seems cruel to do so just now. Instead, he holds his peace and Luna’s hand, and just tries to enjoy it.

It’s good to hear Prompto’s terrible jokes and Ignis’ worse puns. Ravus has a wit so dry that it takes Noctis a good thirty seconds to realize he’s said something funny, even though everyone else is already laughing. Gladio’s unabashedly happy and too loud. Luna just sits quietly and smiles. She’s tired, he can tell, but there’s relief there as well. Knowing she won’t have to carry this burden alone must be a huge weight off her narrow shoulders.

After they’re all fed and full and sleepy, Noct just wants to pile on the floor with everyone. He’s not ready to let them go yet, even if it’s just to their own rooms to sleep. Luna also seems reluctant to part company, and won’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t really mind. It’s late, but rather than retire, they deal a game of Chase The Dragon. Even Iggy plays. Noct understands as he picks up his own hand. The cards are textured on the inside: silky for hearts, rough for spades, smooth for diamonds, and fuzzy for clubs. The face cards are more simple, bearing a letter “K” for kings, “Q” for queens, and “J” for the jacks with a corresponding texture for each suit.

“Okay, so, who wants to kick off the bad news?” Gladio announces and lays down a card. Everyone else follows suit. Prompto announces the results: Ravus ten, Luna five, Gladio seven, Ignis nine, and himself three.

“Right. Guess I’ll start,” Prompto says nervously as he reshuffles the cards and deals. “So. The good news: Niflheim isn’t really a problem anymore. Their tech got away from them and with Ideolas dead, they’re not much of a threat. Chancellor Izunia still pops up to be his usual charming self, but other than that…” he shrugs. “We’ve got bigger problems.” He turns to Luna.

“Without Niflheim to worry about, I was able to resume my duties as Oracle, but it wasn’t enough,” she explains. “Everything began to go dark immediately after the crystal absorbed you. We did our best but…” She gestures helplessly at the heavy darkness pressing in on the windows without even any stars to lighten it.

“Luna’s done all she can, but it’s kind of a lot to ask of one person,” Gladio picks up the tale. “Because of her, Lestallum’s the only place left with anything approaching daylight. Everything else is under deep darkness. Not much out there now except some hunter outposts, and even those are slowly retreating.”

“Their majesties have been keeping things running to the best of their ability,” Ignis continues. “We’ve all adapted as best we can, but things will only grow worse.” He stops short of saying ‘unless you fulfill your role in all this’. Luna keeps one hand in Noct’s and twines her free arm around his waist. Noct can’t quite force back the sudden rush of heat below his collar.

“We’re glad you’re back, your highness,” Ravus finishes, putting an arm around Iggy. Okay, that’s a little weird. Noct blinks as he realizes. Oh. Okay. Huh. Alright. Neither Iggy nor Ravus had seemed wired for romance, but hey. That’s cool. 

It hits him then that life has gone on. These aren’t just makeovers; everyone’s grown and changed and lived their lives without him. Things have happened. Relationships have sprung up. Noct swallows hard and holds onto Luna a little more tightly.

The moment evaporates as Ravus shuffles and deals. Noct can’t decide if Ravus is teasing him with the ‘your highness’ business or not. They play a few rounds, but Noct can’t remember who wins or loses. Eventually they all admit defeat and adjourn to pass the rest of the night in sleep. Noct’s already spent ten years asleep, he doesn’t want to sleep any more, yet somehow he’s tired.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Luna offers. Noct agrees, and takes her arm, grateful for the additional support. She’s always been there to steady him, even when they were small kids. Abstractly, Noctis remembers that they were supposed to get married before everything descended to a new and exciting level of hell. They’ve both been alone in the dark for ten years. Suddenly, Noctis doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Would you...stay?” he stammers as she turns to leave. “Just...just to talk. I don’t… I mean…” Six, he feels like he’s nineteen again and it’s all so damnably awkward. Luna takes pity on him and smiles.

“Of course.”

She stays with him and they talk until it’s light out- or until it’s as light as it ever gets- before finally falling asleep. Noct’s still got his boots on, Luna doesn’t even take her hair down. Nothing happens, but it’s comforting to lie there with her curled around him and know that for this particular ten minutes, everything is alright.

\--

It isn’t easy to slide out from under Luna’s arm without waking her, but Noct manages it. He leaves her delicately snoring and makes his way out to the common area to find everyone else already there. Ignis and Ravus are busy making breakfast, and Gladio and Prompto are going over reports of some sort. Ravus turns to look at him and Noctis stops dead. He’s sure a lecture is coming, but all Ravus does is smile enigmatically and go back to mixing pancake batter. Noctis blinks, shakes himself, and goes over to sit next to Prompto.

“Where’s Luna?” Prompto asks. His gift for tact has not changed.

“I figured I’d let her sleep, she looks exhausted,” Noct says. Gladio raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Noct decides to continue with his idea before the conversation can degenerate.

“So...the whole Oracle thing. The True King can do that too, right?”

Ravus looks over. “The prophecies don’t say much about it but, yes, I believe so.”

“Good. As King, I hereby declare Luna has the day off. No, make it the week. I’m taking over.”

“Are you indeed?” Ignis seems amused.

“Well, the people need to know that I’m still alive and kicking- so to speak- and Luna obviously needs a break, so yes. She can come back to it after she’s had a chance to rest, and I mean actually rest.”

“You may have to tell her that yourself,” Ravus says, fighting not to snicker. “My dear sister isn’t one to follow royal edicts that aren’t her own.”

As it is, no one has to tell her because they let Luna sleep until she wakes up, which is well after noon. By then Noct has already cleaned up and changed into the clothes Ignis has laid out for him. He kind of feels like his dad in the formal three piece suit and walking stick in his hand. All he’s missing is the crown. It’s weird and scary and while he always knew this would happen, his teenaged brain had never pondered the full implications of why and how. In order for a prince to become a king, the old king must first die. Regis has been gone a long time now, but Noct still misses him. Gripping the cane tightly, he hopes he can do a half-decent job for as long as it’s his job to do. Which won’t be long. Better make it count.

Finally, he makes his appearance on Gladio’s arm. The rest of his Crownsguard- Ignis, Prompto, and Ravus- fan out behind him. Those gathered to be blessed by Luna’s healing touch stare up at him bewildered, each blank expression asking “who the heck is this guy?”

“People of Lestallum,” Gladio bellows. “Accordo, Lucis, Gahlad, and Niflheim! Your king has returned!”

There’s cheering, and Noct half wonders if Prompto is standing behind him with cue cards. He had honestly expected everyone to kind of hate him for the whole ten years of darkness thing. Maybe they’re just happy to have someone to heal them, even if it’s not Luna. Either way, Noct spends the rest of the day proving to his subjects that he’s not a complete screw-up and that he hasn’t been slacking for the last decade.

\--

By the end of the day, Noctis has an entirely new appreciation for Luna, and what the guys have been dealing with, but mostly Luna.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he tells her, lying flat on his back on his bed. Luna’s sitting beside him, and reaches to idly smooths his bangs out of his face.

“I’ve done it for as long as I can remember,” she replies. “It’s what I was born for.”

“And I was born to bring the Light back to the world.”

“Thanks not what I meant,” she hurries to amend.

Noctis catches her hand and holds it against his chest. “We both have a lot of expectations on us. We were supposed to get married before I got swallowed by a man-eating geode.”

She giggles at this. “Yes, we were.”

“Do you...still want to?”

That brings her up short and for several seconds she just stares at him, lips parted in shock. Noct realizes that was the absolute last thing he should have brought up, but it’s too late now. He’s on the verge of opening his mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to answer, that it’s a stupid question, but she beats him to it.

“Do you?”

Now it’s his turn to stare blankly.

“Back when dad first suggested it….yeah. Yeah, I did. Except it seems like kind of a dick thing to do- marry a girl just to leave her a widow. I know at the time it was mostly to get us out from under Nif control, but...I wouldn’t have minded at all. Yeah, we were both kinda young, but I always liked you, maybe even had a little school kid crush on you.”

That makes her smile and blush.

“I do like you Luna. A lot. A whole lot. I just...like I said, it seems cruel to have you marry some guy who you know is going to leave you and not come back. Maybe leave you with a baby. I don’t… I don’t want to do that to you.”

She takes his hand and holds it in both of hers, her smile turned soft and sad.

“That’s very noble of you,” she says quietly. “But you’ve forgotten something.”

“What’s that?”

“What I think of all this. I’ve been alone for ten years too,” she begins. “The boys are dears, and I have my brother, but it’s not the same. Before you were taken by the crystal, I had accepted the idea that we would be husband and wife, even warmed to it. You were and are a dear friend. I’ve missed you during these long years of darkness.”

He had forgotten the poetry of her speech, the graceful edges her accent gives to her words. He could listen to her read the phone book and not be bored. He stretches to touch her face and she leans her cheek into his palm.

“We aren’t children anymore, Noctis. Neither are we king and queen, for we have no kingdoms and only scattered people. Answer me not as a monarch, but as a man. Do you love me? Do you want me to be your wife for however long we may have together, or shall we go on as we are, as dear friends?”

How the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Can’t we do both?” his mouth answers before his brain can catch up. Luna laughs and falls on him to hug him close.

“Of course we can,” she says, and kisses him.

\--

Twelve years ago, there had been a contest for various high-end designers to make Luna’s wedding gown. Invitations embossed with gold and silver had been sent out to countless dignitaries. Every syllablossom in Tenebrae had been harvested to adorn the Fenestalla cathedral. Now, it’s just the two of them, flanked by what family they have left, standing in the pale gray beams of the veiled sun.

Luna’s dress is still white, but far simpler than the confection of silk and lace she was supposed to wear. Ignis has conjured a dark suit for him from somewhere. Noctis doesn’t dare ask where or how he got it. They exchange vows before their remaining subjects, and kiss. They shake the hands of well-wishers, receive hugs and such gifts as their people can manage. The guys have instructions to secretly see that all presents are redistributed to those who truly need them.

This must have been what weddings looked like for the ancient kings: an outdoor banquet more akin to a picnic. Simple food, but plenty of it. Someone finds some speakers and plugs in their phone to provide music. It’s all soberingly low-budget, but nobody seems to mind. Everyone is smiling ear to ear.

Ravus gets the last word with a slightly choked-up “Take care of her,” as he assists the royal couple in their escape from their own party.

“I will,” Noctis promises, and hobbles after his bride.

They can’t exactly manage a destination honeymoon. The guys have very graciously moved their stuff to a different room so that they will not disturb, or be disturbed by anyone. Now it’s just the two of them, Noctis suddenly feels awkward. True, Luna’s seen him in a worse state than this, but he doesn’t like the idea of her seeing his bare legs even if they are healed and no longer buttressed by braces. Luna seems shy as well. She’s having trouble meeting his eyes and a pink flush has spread across her cheeks. He notices then that the gown doesn’t fit her properly; that the bosom gapes and the pencil skirt is too wide for her narrow hips. It dawns on him that she’s shy about him seeing her as well.

“Hey,” Noctis tells her, gently lifting her chin with one finger. “No pressure, okay.”

“It isn’t that so much,” she hedges, looking away. “Only…” She gestures vaguely at herself.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he tells her honestly and kisses her forehead. Smiling, she leans against him and puts her arms around him. Noctis rests his chin on her head, content to just stand there. Then she’s stretching to kiss him and that’s even better.

Luna’s always been with him. When he first woke up after the daemon attack, Luna had been there holding his hand. She’s been fighting beside him ever since their escape from Niflheim control. What with trying to avoid detection, awakening Astrals, and adding items to the armiger, they haven’t gotten to do anything that resembles dating. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t come to admire and appreciate her as more than a childhood friend. He has. She’s as much a part of the team, of his life, as the guys. He honestly doesn’t know what he would do without her. Maybe theirs isn’t the most passionate of romances, but that doesn’t make it less real. He loves Luna; first as a friend, and now as something more.

He doesn’t remember falling to the bed with her, or how their clothing ends up scattered across the floor in a way that would make Ignis twitch. He stops short at the pearly slip and her smile is so grateful it hurts. Perhaps in return, she doesn’t touch his trousers except to undo them.

It’s hard to make out the shape of her body in the deep shadows of the room, but he can feel each vertebrae, each rib, the sharp edges of her pelvis, and wishes he had been there to keep it from happening. He’ll make it better, he promises himself as she smothers his mouth with her own. He’ll fix it. He will.

He meant what he said. She’s beautiful, despite the toll the last years have taken on her. She’s soft under his hands, yet strong. She may be reduced, but she isn’t beaten. He isn’t either. The time in the crystal may have built up his body, but he can’t help feeling self-conscious. Somehow, she doesn’t draw attention to his shortcomings, doesn’t make him feel awkward and ashamed. Noct does his best to show her just how much that- how much she- means to him.

\--

Morning finds them still entwined, Luna’s head on his shoulder, her nose nestled in his throat. Her dainty snores continue for a moment before she inhales deeply and yawns. For once, he doesn’t mind getting pulled from his dreams into the waking world.

“Morning,” Noct mumbles and sleepily kisses her bangs. Luna returns the favor, touching her lips to his neck and sending a rush of warm pins and needles over his skin. It isn’t until that moment that he realizes they’ve forgotten something fairly important. Noct is instantly awake as panic seizes him and he mutters a curse.

“Noct?” Luna asks, lifting her head. “Is something wrong?”

“I just realized we didn’t… I didn’t um...suit up last night,” he says awkwardly, feeling his face burn.

“Oh is that all,” she yawns and snuggles closer. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Really?” he asks, feeling his heart rate begin to slow to its usual pace. “You’ve got that taken care of on your end, then?”

Luna shrugs. “Noct, I haven’t bled for twelve years. The Astrals took that from me. It was one thing I was more than happy to sacrifice.”

“So...is that part of the covenant, or because you’re literally all that’s standing between Eos and eternal darkness?”

“That last one, I think. It didn’t dry up right away. It was only after I’d been appointed Oracle and begun healing people that it stopped,” she explains. “So you don’t need to worry about that.”

Noct breathes a sigh of relief as she stretches to kiss his jaw. On one hand, he’s glad he won’t accidentally leave her alone with a baby. On the other...well, the Lucian line had to end someday.

“I wouldn’t mind though,” she goes on. “That way I’d get to keep a little piece of you with me.”

Noct can’t help blushing slightly at that. “Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“Well then.” He turns to pull her into his arms, and any further words are lost in their kiss.


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning of the end.

Nobody says anything other than a friendly “welcome back” when Noctis and Luna make their appearance. Ravus very determinedly does not look him in the eye, but that’s about it. Maybe they don’t dare say anything since Luna’s there. Either way, Noct’s glad for the excuse to not talk about his- their- love life.

Time hasn’t stood still while he’s been gone. Aside from getting cozy with Ravus, Iggy’s been making a survey of the Royal Tombs. Prompto’s been helping, taking meticulous photographs to document each one. It’s taken most of the ten years, but they’ve found something interesting.

Noctis never liked Chancellor Izunia, and would be more than willing to lay the blame for 99.9% of their current problems at his feet, but this goes a bit beyond the pale.

“I know it sounds incredible, but we have reason to believe that he may be the source of the Darkness,” Ignis finishes.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Noct grumbles, remembering the nightmarish face beyond those of his friends as the crystal sucked him in. “It’s a little off-putting to think he’s like my seventy-fifth great-uncle.”

Luna wrinkles her nose in sympathy.

“So he tried to help by sucking up all the daemon miasma, but then he was out of the running for Chosen King because he was unclean. Sounds like something the Astrals would do.”

“Indeed,” Ignis says quietly. Noct suddenly wishes he hadn’t said that last bit. He’s on the verge of apologizing when Ignis continues:

“I can’t imagine him not making an attempt to sabotage Noct’s pilgrimage. We’re sure to encounter him either in Insomnia or on the way.”

“He’s a walking plague,” Noct muses. “Even if I restore the Light, will it do any good if he’s still causing trouble?”

“He could be cleansed,” Luna speaks up. “I tried when he interfered during the summoning of Leviathan. I made some progress before he knocked me out.”

Everyone turns to look at her. Luna scowls in defiance, daring them to challenge her.

“Can you do that?” Noct asks gently, breaking the silence. He doesn’t have to add ‘Won’t it kill you?’ Instead, he follows with: “What if you had help?”

That brings her up short and she has to think about it. “It might well require two to subdue him.”

“Okay,” Noct agrees. He’s not really sure both the Oracle and the Chosen King will be enough, but it’s better than Luna going it alone.

\--

There are more refugees streaming into Lestallum every day, most recently from Insomnia. Home. The place he’s got to go back to, sooner or later. Luna rests while Noct sees to the new influx of people waiting to be healed. He can barely stand up by the time full dark falls. They can’t keep this up, can’t put this off forever. As much as he hates to say it, it’s time for one more road trip.

He had thought about leaving Iggy and Ravus in charge, but they scoff and ignore him and proceed to load a battered old truck with everyone’s gear. Luna isn’t about to let him go off on his own, so Noct doesn’t really tried to dissuade her. Gladio and Prompto ready the Regalia, which is still in beautiful shape, considering. Prompto drives, Gladio rides shotgun, and Noct and Luna take the back. Ravus and Ignis follow in their truck.

They stop briefly at a haven and camp what Noct assumes is overnight. It’s hard to tell anymore. The sunlight isn’t following Luna, and everything’s dark beyond the glow of the runestones and the campfire. Ignis cooks what Noct honestly believes is the best meal he’s ever eaten. He says so and everyone agrees. They laugh and talk. Luna holds his hand. He tries, tries so hard to tell them what he’s feeling, but doesn’t quite carry it off. It’s okay, though. They all seem to understand.

He kind of wants to squeeze everyone into one tent and sleep in a pile, surrounded by his friends. There are two tents set up; one for himself and Luna and one for the guys. It doesn’t seem fair that they should be divided like this. He’ll have Luna with him, but dammit he wants everyone around him. After all, they’re all on this kamikaze mission together. He knows he won’t make it back, but the rest of them might not either. He hopes they do, but it’s a risk they’re all taking.

“It’s so hot,” Luna remarks. Noct has to agree, it is humid and close with the trees on every side. The seasons have not stopped just because the sun cannot be seen. It must be high summer by now, and it is comparatively warm out.

“Why don’t we sleep under the stars- such as they are?” she suggests. Noct considers kissing her then and there. The chuck their gear in the tents and lay their sleeping bags like tatami mats; the guys fencing in the royal couple. Noct falls asleep with Luna on one side, Prompto on the other, and Ignis and Gladio at head and foot. Ravus serves as a barrier on Luna’s other side, still that one degree removed, but there just the same. None of them are going to let him do this alone.

The sky overhead is black and impenetrable. Around them, the woods are deep and dark and full of daemons. Yet the Haven’s soft blue glow is comforting, and his friends surround him. Noct has not felt so safe in a long, long time.

\--

He wakes to the sense of Luna shifting beside him. Funny. He used to have such a hard time waking up. That’s not to say it doesn’t still hurt, that he doesn’t feel nine kinds of hung-over until after he’s taken a couple of deep breaths and massaged his face with both hands. Everything still hurts, and the vague, insistent belief that everything will stop hurting if only he could sleep for five more minutes lingers. His rational mind knows that this has not been true for the last thirty years and it isn’t true now, but it’s hard to fight back the urge to drop off again. Once he’s up, he’ll be okay. Also, Ignis is with them, which means good coffee and breakfast, both of which sound amazing.

He lets Luna help him up and assists in the preliminary packing; rolling up his sleeping bag and organizing his stuff a bit before disappearing into the smaller tent with her. He turns his back to her as they get changed, and she to him. Now is not the time, and he knows she still feels weird about him looking at her out of uniform, as it were. Not because she’s shy, but because she’s not comfortable with how she looks undressed. That’s okay. Noct’s still overly self-conscious about his legs despite them being mostly restored and not looking any more ridiculous than any other guy skinny little white guy who’s tried to wear shorts.

Luna does ask him to help with some of the trickier bits of her uniform, so there’s that. They may or may not sneak some kisses in while they’re at it. He also lets her do a couple of the more fiddly catches and if her hands stray, well, he’s not going to complain. He almost wishes that they had more time, that the outfits didn’t have so damn many moving parts, and that they weren’t such a pain to get into and out of. Well, they need to get going. No sense putting it off. Lifting the tent flap, Noct crawls out and gets to his feet.

It’s weird to see everyone in their Crownsguard uniforms, it drives home that they’re all adults now. Like, actual for real grownups. No one here has living parents except maybe for Gladio- Noct hasn’t asked him and it seems rude to do so out of the blue. All they have is each other. This is for real and playtime is over. Even Luna’s dressed in black, a soft white scarf looped loosely around her neck the only hint at her role as Oracle. Noct’s not sure how he feels about this. He’s so used to seeing her in white, or maybe soft gray or blue. She’s still beautiful, wears the heavy wool jacket and sturdy boots with the same easy grace that she does a flowing gown and heels. But she doesn’t look like herself and it’s weird and a little unsettling. She takes his hand and squeezes it. Noct squeezes back. It’s still her. They’re not dead yet. They can do this.

They have to.


	10. Part Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a prophesy is fulfilled.  
> Kind of.

It hurts to see what’s left of Insomnia. There’s wreckage everywhere; abandoned cars, fallen street lamps, broken telephone poles. The buildings look bombed out. The worst part is it’s clearly been like this for a long time. The wrecked cars are rusty, their windows cloudy and broken. The wood of the phone poles is rotting and riddled with wormholes. He’d say Nature is reclaiming the city, but it it can’t. There’s no sun. Even without the daemons popping up everywhere, the city is full of ghosts. None of them speak as they make their way toward the Citadel.

As predicted, Chancellor Sleazeball is there waiting for them. He doesn’t bother monologuing this time, just sics a corrupted version of Ifrit on them. Happily, they have Shiva on their side and the fight isn’t too bad. That’s not to say they aren’t all a little bit crispy around the edges. All that remains now is dealing with Ardyn himself, and he isn’t likely to go down easy. He’s also unlikely to play fair.

“Okay,” Noct says, taking a moment to raise a shield around each of his Crownsguard. “We know he likes to screw with people, and that he cheats like hell. Don’t let him get inside your head. Just stick to the mission. If it gets too hot, there is no shame in falling back to regroup.

“I’ll go in first and keep his attention. Prompto will cover me. Ignis and Luna, Ravus and Gladio will get around him from another angle. I’ll cast Flare to signal you. Once Luna and I have him cornered, we’ll take him down.”

They nod to show they understand.

Right. Time to go.

They touch fists and disperse.

Noct does his best to march into the throne room with his head high. Ardyn is lounging in the throne as if he owns the place. The broken bodies of his friends dangle like forgotten marionettes, hopelessly tangled in their own strings: Ignis with his ruined eyes uncovered and staring at nothing, Ravus’ remaining arm hanging at a sickening angle. Luna’s face is streaked with tears, her legs with blood. Noctis’ vision stains red. Astrals, if that bastard laid a hand on her… Wait. Noct shakes his head, squinting to see past what his eyes register as light and color.

They’re illusions. Magic, nothing more. Well, Noct knows magic. He also happens to know his friends are safe and sneaking around to ambush the smug son of a bitch right now.

“Out of my chair, jester,” Noct growls. “The King sits there.”

Ardyn opens his mouth to offer a witty reply, but Noct doesn’t give him the chance. A bolt of lightning flies from his hand to scorch the upholstery of the throne. Ardyn is now inches from his face, weapon in hand.

Yeah, no. They’re not doing that again.

Rather than try to deflect or shove him away, Noct seizes him by the cravat and yanks him forward. Ardyn clearly wasn’t expecting that and stumbles into him, the dagger going off to one side, nicking Noctis’ arm. Noct drops the walking stick to grab Ardyn with his free hand. Magic arcs around them and they fall to the floor as two more bodies collide with them. Luna and Gladio have joined the fight. Together, they wrestle the Chancellor to the ground. Prompto, Ravus, and Ignis pile on to help.

It takes every particle of magic Noct has to keep Ardyn from warping away. Luna’s sitting on his chest, both hands around his neck like she’s trying to strangle him. The guys do their best to keep his arms and legs pinned. Indeed, Ardyn’s jaw is working and he does appear to be choking. Greasy black tears streak down his cheeks, inky slaver from the corners of his mouth.

“Wretched brats!” Ardyn rasps, and a wave of sickly purple black explodes outward, throwing them back. The gunk stings and burns; making their clothing smoke. Noct hauls himself to his feet, hands slipping on the walking stick from the goo.

Ardyn’s not doing much better. He’s doubled over, one arm pressed against his middle. Black streaks down his face like he’s wearing cheap makeup, he gags and vomits a cascade of purple-black onto the floor.

“Ew gross…” Prompto comments as Ardyn coughs. Noct hopes against hope that he’ll back down, that he’ll try to throw an attack and explode in a shower of goo and that’ll be it. However, he knows too well that their luck just isn’t that good. Noct has just enough time to raise and cross his wrists, forming a barrier over his friends as Ardyn lets loose a bolt of magic. Despite the shield, everyone winces and staggers with the impact, especially Noct.

Ardyn’s summoned a scythe that looks like the Grim Reaper briefly went through a Magical Girl phase and then thought better of it. The fact that his daemon-fueled armiger shows up fuschia doesn’t help. It would be funny if he wasn’t swinging it with deadly force toward them. Gladio isn’t having any of this and leaps forward to intercept the oversized piece of farming equipment with his mace. The blades collide with a an arm-shivering clang. Noct takes some satisfaction that the mace has left a sizeable chip in the middle of the scythe’s long fang. Ardyn, however, is annoyed.

“No,” he snarls, and flings what Noct at first thinks is magic at them. He isn’t wrong. The guys give a shout and stagger where they stand. Prompto lets out an abbreviated shriek.

“What did you do to them?” Noct demands, risking a brief glance back. Iggy’s clawing at purple-black goop completely covering his face. Prompto’s lying face-down on the floor. Gladio’s been sent sprawling on his back, and Ravus clutching his prosthetic arm, screaming like he’s being tortured. A spike of panic shoots up Noct’s spine as he realizes something: Luna is missing.

“No, your highness,” Ardyn says mockingly, drawing his attention to the front again. “No royal retainers to help you this time. Let’s keep it between the two of us, shall we? One Chosen King to another.”

“Fine,” Noct growls, knowing the sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can help his friends. Ardyn pulls a sword from nowhere, the blade already looking bloody from the flicker of deep magenta energy as it manifests.

“Gonna attack the crippled guy with a sword?” Noct challenges, hoping to goad him. “Read you were the best mage of your time; a healer, a summoner, an Oracle blessed with the favor of the Astrals. You gonna try and stab me in the back again, or have you just lost your touch?”

Ardyn’s honor may have eroded away after the first century or so, but there’s nothing wrong with his pride. The sword vanishes. Noct knows better than to expect it to stay that way, but it’s a start.

The first blast of magic is not unexpected, and Noct’s ready for the impact of not the spell itself. Ardyn seems intent on flattening him in the first five minutes if he’s prepared to burn this kind of MP. Meteors shatter over his shield, crash into the floor on either side somehow not smashing through the marble to leave craters the size of a small car. This a big spell; one that’s difficult and expensive. Well, two can play at this game. Noct warps away from falling asteroids and lets Ardyn have a little taste of the planet’s own power. A black hole opens beneath him, compressing his body into comically thin caricature of himself. Even Ardyn seems surprised by this. Gravity is difficult to use effectively, but Noct has mastered the trick. It makes running difficult and warping almost impossible. Still, Ardyn manages to escape the crushing force of the earth. His smile seems...amused, almost impressed. He probably figures kids today don’t bother much with magic when they can have a gun or a sword.

“Well,” he chuckles, “someone’s done their homework.”

After that the gloves come off. It’s all Noct can do to brace for the next attack, to not just block, but reflect the spell back at him. Ardyn’s expression says he wasn’t expecting that, and he barely manages to dodge his own spell. Magic crackles and flashes, making the air fizz with energy. Noct can feel his hair standing on end with the charge of it; feels the heat where it burns through his clothing when he isn’t able to get out of the way fast enough.

The Astrals have granted his wish for legs that work, but Noct realizes now that he never asked for legs that worked _well_. It’s all he can do to stumble out of the line of fire. There is not even the suggestion of grace or technique as he lurches one direction and then the other, desperately stabbing at the ground with the walking stick to maintain his balance. There are so many times when he braces for impact, but Ardyn’s magic sizzles past him. It’s almost as if Noct is holding himself up by magic. Maybe he is? He doesn’t have time to think about it as Ardyn launches another blast of white-hot plasma at him.

This isn’t getting them anywhere. They’re too evenly matched, but that won’t be the case much longer. Ardyn has an entire world of darkness and daemon spawn to draw from. Noct has the Astrals and his ancestors, and he isn’t keen to see who’ll run out of batteries first. He feels it more than sees it, the subtle tug, and realizes with a start that Ardyn’s reaching into the same space between: the Armiger. The bastard’s summoning a weapon.

Noct doesn’t think, just reacts. With a savage cry, he rips the hidden sword from the sheath of the cane and hurls it at Ardyn. He follows after it in a blur of blue energy, lurching to a sudden stop as the blade sinks deep into the larger man’s body, and then the thick wood of the throne, pinning him in place. Ardyn just sits there, bemused and gasping, as if he cannot believe what just happened. A burst of silver-white light behind him is all the warning he gets. Noct lurches to one side as Luna drives the tines of her trident deep into Ardyn’s chest. His eyes bulge and black pours down his chin. This time, Noct realizes, he’s not going anywhere.

Ardyn’s mouth moves, but only more daemon vomit pours out. The words are clear enough without sound: _What? How?_

“It’s the little things, really, when it comes to casting a spell,” Luna says calmly, as if commenting on the afternoon’s blend of tea. “The fine details. You cursed the King’s retainers, and exempted those chosen by the Astrals.” She smiles serenely. Ardyn looks as if he’s trying to find new and creative ways to arrange just four letters into words.

Reaching, she cups his jaw with one hand, places the other over his pierced breast.

“Poor man,” she remarks, and her tone is sympathetic, almost kind. Noct half believes she really does feel for him. Noct...kinda does too. He knows how it feels to be screwed over by the Powers That Be for no readily apparent reason. But that doesn’t give Ardyn the right to in turn screw over the rest of the world just because he’s had a bad millennium. Noct does feel kind of sorry for him, but not enough that he isn’t going to put an end to this here and now.

Noct mirrors Luna’s positioning, and puts one hand against Ardyn’s face and the other on his chest. The mage in him idly observes that their dominant hands are the ones holding him in place, Noct’s left hand directly over Ardyn’s heart. He can feel the starscourge broiling just beneath the surface. On impulse, he moves his hand so it’s over Ardyn’s sternum. Luna’s hand is already there, and he places his hand overtop hers.

_Blessed stars of Life and Light  
Deliver us from Darkness’ blight…_

The words echo among them, his own voice and Luna’s speaking the words into the Infinite though theirs mouths never move. Ardyn struggles, kicks, squirms, but as the darkness pours out of him, he loses all strength. The poison leeches out of him, trailing from his body in plumes of thick, oily smoke. It evaporates harmlessly into the air in a shower of gold and silver shimmer. Ardyn has a less glamorous transformation. As the toxin leaves him, his body begins to deteriorate. The lines in his face deepen, his skin becoming pale and papery. The flesh beneath his ostentatious suit retracts, leaving skeletal limbs too weak and fragile to lift even the weight of his garments. Before long, he’s a white-haired corpse of his former self; a mummy wrapped in layers of archaic clothing. His lips move, but no sound comes out. Bizarrely, it looks like…

_...thank you._

Only their weapons are holding him up, pinned in place like an insect preserved for study. Noct watches, repulsed yet fascinated as Ardyn dissolves into leather and bone, and finally dust. Even his coat is little more than moth-eaten fibers so delicate that the slightest shift in the currents of air sends them scattering into fine particles.

“So ends the reign of Ardyn Izunia Lucis-Caelum, last of his name,” Luna says, inclining her head toward the pile of ancient dust. An indistinct groan makes Noct turn sharply, and the last of the remains swirls away into nothing. The guys have scraped themselves off the floor and are trying to shake off what Ardyn did to them. Now that he’s dead, so is his power over them. That doesn’t mean the pain doesn’t linger.

“Everybody okay?” he calls down to them.

“More or less,” Ravus grumbles, helping Ignis up.

“We’re fine,” Gladio assures him.

Noct looks around him; at the daemon goo still slowly dissolving into the air, at his friends and their ruined uniforms. Luna’s scarf only has a few spots of white left on it, and not much of her bun is still in place. They’ve slain the dragon. They’ve won. All that’s left now…

They look back at him, knowing what’s got to happen, but hating it just the same. Prompto swallows hard. So does Luna. This is it. This is what he was born for. Noct’s whole life has been leading up to this moment. He just… He just has to do it.

Pulling the stiletto out of the throne takes some effort, but he manages to jerk it free without falling on his ass. Resheathing it, he sets it aside and lowers himself onto the throne. Six, his father used to sit here all the time. Did it ever feel weird to him, Noct wonders? Was it hard to occupy this seat knowing it would one day claim his son’s life? It occurs to Noctis how much his father gave up for him, and how much he misses him right now. Well. He’ll be able to tell him all about it soon.

Summoning his father’s sword is easy. Lifting it is downright impossible. Even with two hands, he can’t do it. Well this is- as Iggy would say- a fine kettle of fish. He looks up at the guys who are already ascending the stairs to help him. Everyone, including Luna and Ravus- wraps a hand around the big, two-handed pommel. It seems to take everyone’s combined strength to stab the sword into the pedestal as Noct mentally chants the spell to summon his ancestors.

The Armiger bursts from him in a thousand shards, leaving him gasping. Every weapon is pointed at him; his father’s sword, Luna’s trident, even the walking stick is poised to strike. Noct sits back on the throne and steels himself.

_Do it._

The first weapon tears through him. He’d thought he was prepared, thought he had a reasonable idea of what to expect. His is wrong. He is so, _so_ wrong. Noct’s been wounded before. He’s caught a ricocheted bullet through his thigh, been stabbed with a blade, been burned by heat and magic. Those were all flesh wounds; damage to his body alone. This… This cuts straight through his soul. He can feel his psyche shredding as weapon after weapon lances through him.

Distantly he hears a cry from Ignis, and another from Luna. He tries to find breath to tell them it’s alright, that they don’t have to stay. Although they are obviously distressed, it’s not purely over him. Ignis’ sleeve looks as if it’s been torn, though the fabric is intact. He could swear Luna has a slice out of her cheek though there is no blood. Another weapon slams him and Prompto flinches, a fresh mark sliced into his shoulder though his skin remains unbroken.

The weapons are hitting them too.

“Get back!” Noct wheezes, but apparently it’s Opposite Day because everyone decides he must not have meant what he said.

There are perhaps two-thirds of the weapons left and they’re coming faster. Noct feels something important give with the next impact. It’s suddenly very difficult to breathe. With a cry, Luna throws herself at him, latching her arms around his neck. Before he can open his mouth to at least go through the motions of protesting, another weapon hits. Luna can’t help gasping with the impact.

“Princess!” That’s Prompto, throwing himself over both Luna and Noct, who despite being unable to breathe, is getting increasingly annoyed with the heroics. Iggy and Ravus pile on next, with Gladio bracing them all from behind. The last few weapons slice through all six of them. Noct is caught somewhere between frustration and gratitude. It doesn’t matter. The waking world has faded. This is goodbye. At least he got to die with his friends around him.

There is a moment of Nothing; time to lie there and just enjoy the feeling of not being in pain. It takes Noct a moment to realize there are strong arms around him; many arms, in fact. Wait. That can’t be right. Panic and confusion jolt his eyes open and there’s everyone dogpiled on top of him. A familiar ginormous suit of armor looms out of the nothing, looking at them with some confusion.

_‘This was not foretold.’_

_‘Yeah, we kinda went off script,’_ Noct admits. _‘That’s not gonna like...mess up the Return of the Dawn, is it?’_ Because if it is, he is going to be so fucking pissed.

 _‘No…’_ Bahamut drawls. _‘The Prophecy has been fulfilled. There will be but one exception.’_

 _‘And what’s that?’_ Noct asks, dreading the answer.

Bahamut looks them over one more time, and Noct can swear there’s a smile behind the giant visor.

 _‘No one life has been sacrificed,’_ Bahamut intones. _‘Six lives were given willingly, when only one was required. Return to your realm, my children, and restore your world.’_

\--

It’s the first time Noctis has woken up not in pain. He’s tired, sore, starving, but without the migraine that always made it so hard to take that first deep breath. The perpetual pins-and-needles feeling of nerves severed, healed, and damaged again is gone. His body no longer feels like a rusty machine with too many parts broken and replaced.

Noct inhales, feels the cobwebs clear. There’s light lancing down, forcing him to squint if he wants to see what’s going on.

Wait.

Light.

He opens his eyes all the way despite the brightness. There is sun- real, actual sun- streaming in through the stained glass, making the panes of color glow. He’s still sitting on the throne- his throne. On his lap, Luna stirs and draws her own first breath.

“Look,” he tells her softly, “we did it.”

“We’re still alive,” she says, wondering. “All of us?”

“I think so.”

Around them, the guys are coming to and picking themselves up off the floor. Prompto doesn’t look so good. He pushes himself to hands and knees, but his arms are trembling. His whole body convulses and he heaves black onto the floor.

That’s right. Prompto’s half electronic; and that electronic half is powered by Darkness.

And now the Darkness is gone.

“Prom, no!” Noct cries, all but dumping Luna to the floor in his hurry to get to his friend. He falls more than drops to his knees and grabs Prompto by the shoulders.

“It’s okay, Prom, it’s okay,” he murmurs, gathering the smaller man close. “It’s okay.”

He doesn’t want this to be goodbye, not after everything. They’ve won. The Darkness is gone- except, apparently, what’s still inside Prompto.

_Please gods no…_

The light intensifies, as if they’re being scorched by a single sunbeam. Prompto screams and Noct holds him tighter. He’s forced to loosen his grip as the lights die down and Prompto is wracked with a fit of coughing. He brings up one more wave of daemon goo and flops back in Noctis’ arms, shivering.

There are filaments of light and color that run up Prompto’s right side; fine lines that resemble the etchings on a computer chip. Previously, they had glowed deep purple, sometimes pink if Prompto’s angry. Now, however, they’re a brilliant blue-white. Unthinking, Noct tugs at the hem of Prompto’s shirt, pulling it free. Prompto has a panel in his side that serves as a reservoir for the miasma that powers his electrical bits. It’s now calm and blue as the Altisian sea on a clear day. The Darkness has been exchanged for Light. Noctis hugs him close, knowing that Prompto won’t run out of batteries for a long, long time.

Prompto’s eyelids flutter open; he looks around bemused.

“...am I sitting on your lap?”

Noct can’t help a smile. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you passed out, genius. You’re better now.”

“Oh.” Prompto nods slowly, sitting there a minute more before letting Noct pass him to Gladio.

“I feel better,” he comments, but it’s obvious he’s still more than a little dazed. Noct imagines he’s running some sort of internal diagnostic; recalibrating his new power source or something.

Ravus has Iggy similarly folded in his arms, flesh hand stroking his hair. Face hidden in Ravus’ throat and both arms latched around him, Ignis’ shoulders tremble. It almost looks as if he’s crying.

“Iggy?” Noct asks gently. “You okay?”

It takes him a minute to lift his head and scrub the salt streaks from his face. When he does, Ignis looks him full in the eye and Noct blinks. Ignis’ left eye is still dull and cloudy, the scar tissue a discolored patch around the socket. His right eye, however, is bright and sharp and zeroing in on him without any problems. The hazel-green that Noct remembers is as vivid and clear as if the damage had never occurred.

“I can see,” Ignis gasps, more tears escaping. “I can _see!_ ”

There aren’t words, so they all just fall on him, descending in a swarm of hugs. Ignis laughs, and it’s so beautiful it hurts- but in a good way. They’re all crying a little when they finally back off. They should really regroup; find some food, a place to rest, maybe head back to their vehicles for the return trip. Unless the Darkness is evaporating bit by bit, everyone’s surely noticed the sun is out. Even after the sun sets, it will be a thousand times safer than it has been. Noct tries to get his feet under him, but his legs won’t move.

What the crap?

He can feel them, sort of, but they’re dead weight. Maybe it’s just because he blew all his MP fighting Ardyn and then died and came back to life. That’s a good reason for his legs not to work, right? Surely once he’s had a chance to rest and recover, he’ll be able to walk.

He hopes…

“Need a hand there, buddy?” Gladio asks, already hooking a hand under Noct’s arm. Gladio can- and does- lift him with one hand. Even with the walking stick, Noct’s legs won’t hold him. The joy they’d all felt over Iggy regaining his sight suddenly doesn’t feel so bright.

“I’m okay,” Noct assures them as Gladio and Luna pull him up off the floor and sit him on the throne again. “I just need to rest, that’s all.” But Luna’s already running her hands over him, searching for injuries.

“No, it’s too cruel,” he hears her murmur. “Not after all this….”

“Honestly, didn’t _any_ of you think to bring an elixir?” That’s Ravus, digging in the pockets of his coat and producing several of the aforementioned items. Luna stretches to kiss his cheek and snatches an elixir from his hands. She holds it steady while Noctis gulps it down. The liquid magic sends electricity through Noctis’ body; parts of his brain that he hadn’t realized had shut down slowly coming back online. Luna takes one for herself, but makes Noct drink two more. He doesn’t complain.

His legs respond when he tries to move them, but his knees buckle the moment he tries to stand up. That’s fair, he thinks. He’s asked a lot of his body and really, this is the best it can do right now. He owes it a victory feast and a thirty hour nap. He tries to summon the wheelchair from the Armiger, but even after three elixirs, he’s too weak to even manage that.

“I got it,” Prompto says, and pulls the item in question from thin air.

Gladio carries him down the dais stairs on his back, which is marginally more dignified than being carried in his arms. Noct sighs as he’s set in the wheelchair. Luna comes up behind him to push.

“Allow me, Majesty,” Prompto offers. “Let us do the heavy lifting.”

They all laugh at that, and Luna moves to take Noctis’ hand. Ignis is clutching Ravus’ good arm, perhaps a bit disoriented after so long in the dark. Gladio has a protective hand on Prompto’s shoulder. He removes it only long enough to step forward and push open the big double doors. Sunlight streams in, blinding at first. There’s noise as well. It takes Noct a minute to figure out what it is: applause, cheers, whistling. When his eyes adjust he sees his ragged subjects standing in the street, crying for joy.

“Our people welcome their triumphant king,” Luna says softly, squeezing his hand.

“And queen,” he reminds her. “And cabinet. I couldn’t have done it without you, all of you.”

“No,” Luna agrees, stooping to kiss him. “You couldn’t.”


End file.
